i dreamed about drawings. they were the wrong colors. or, rather, they were the right colors but people insisted they were wrong. i had drawn a place from memory and traveled to it in order to prove that the benches were brick red, not pink. but by the time i got to the actual beach resort, the sun had faded the slats to a pale pink. only a hint of red remained around the edges. i slept in a hotel that was my first house, my guest room was my sisters’ room. there was a dude who was good looking and nice and flirty. we were definitely in the 80’s. he had the muscle shirt with a pink logo and Wham! hair and everything. but i didn’t want to sleep with anyone who thought my colors were wrong. one picture i drew was the kid in the rain from my thesis. but the kid was a woman and her shape was nothing but overlapping loops and scribbles drawn forcefully with red and blue ballpoint pens. a pile of knots in the rain.