With Mo at the top of a high hill or low mountain.  they tell us the roads might be washed out.  we should wait to leave. but we go anyway because Mo (who becomes Audra) has to pick up her little brother. she promised. so we find a good strong slab of stone to use as a wedge in case we get stuck. it’s as big as a table top and has a leg attached to one corner. it’s perfect. we drive over broken boulders going down the hill.  we get stuck once but use our wedge and keep going.  i hang on for dear life and ask her if she thinks we should stop.  it’s very treacherous.  she says we can’t make it back up so we have to try to make it down.  we hit a boulder just right and it sends us flying. when we land we are stuck on a giant rock in a mound of giant rocks near a stream.  most of our wheels are left in the air without a surface to grab onto.  we go to get our slab but has flown behind the car and is now tightly wedged between rocks the size of our car.  we are most definitely stuck. as we are standing there, staring at our predicament, two more cars fly into the air and crash near ours, getting themselves stuck as well. wreckers arrive and pick up the drivers and take them back up the hill, leaving the cars behind.  but we can’t leave the car behind.  it’s all we have.  Audra’s parents come to pick us up and yell at us for being so reckless and stupid.  they point at a phone on the ground and yell and Audra for not taking care of her belongings. the phone is a flip phone similar to mine and lit up with an unanswered call.  i don’t recognize the number but i want to make sure it’s not my phone in case the number belongs to a job offer. i pick it up out of a puddle and examine it. it’s not mine.
going through an art museum with Jolene. she’s not all that interested in any of the exhibits but she wanted to be the one to show me the place.  we go downstairs to an enclosed space and order food. they tell us they can make any of the dishes gluten free and Jolene is impressed. when the food arrives my pasta is cool and the sauce is bland. Isn’t it great?! she raves.
i decide to go back to the museum on another day. there is so much i didn’t get to see before because i was rushed. i go in through the restaurant with someone but i’m not sure who (Layla? My dad?). Going through the restaurant i pick up a map and leave the menu behind. i get through without paying. it wasn’t intentional, but i’m glad for it. i walk through on my own, free to check out whatever i want for as long as i want.  the main exhibit seems to be vaguely inspirational quotes in bold white arial font on solid matte backgrounds.  burnt umber, navy blue.  i’m not interested in them.
i go through a door into an area that is like a greenhouse.  there is ambient-drone music playing and as as i look around i notice dozens of butterflies flying along to it.  at my feet sitting on green leaves is an overlapping pile of of them.  i want to get a photo of two who are sitting still and i struggle to get the lighting right to display their pink opalescent wings. just as i think i’ve got the perfect shot, some little kids start rubbing their wings roughly between their fingers.  i tell them to stop. i tell all of the adults in the room to quit allowing their children to clap at and touch these delicate creatures! before leaving i buy a cd featuring the music that the butterflies flock to in that room.
in the next room there are stone benches like the ones outside of my high school  and wishing ponds. i am sitting just taking a break, breathing the humid air, and looking at the map. a man is telling us that the butterfly exhibit is great but they really need to get some new music in there. nobody likes it. i disagree and tell him that i am a proud owner of that music and i find it to be very relaxing and enlightening. he tells me that i’m probably some local museum groupie and i tell him that this is only my 4th visit. well in that case, he says, you have to check out the gym upstairs. like a real gymnasium? i ask. yes.
headed home i take the train with my dad. the outside of the subway cars are plastered with an ad campaign for Trump. the inside is the same, with powder blue ads on the ceiling, along the sides. playing over the intercom is an interview with Trump and i am infuriated. i say, panicked, to my father, “they can’t do this! this has to be illegal! we’ve got to stop it!” and he nods and says gravely, “It’s the power of suggestion.” and i look around and see all of these people bundled up, sitting and standing quietly, being washed over by Trumps false prejudiced message and not fighting it at all.