“Have you seen Madame Beauvoir?” she asks in the white hallway.  “I have not,” I admit.  She says it’s very good and I need to see it. “Have you seen any Danny Elfman movies?” I ask her.  She hasn’t.  “Oh, he directs all kinds of gay artsy and absurd movies. You should check him out,” I tell her.  Then I say, “We need to hurry. The tiger is coming.” We run to the next fire door at the end of the hall. When we look behind us there is a rhino, a tiger, and…  I’m not sure what else.  Hyena? Coyote? We go through the door, shut it, turn right, through another door, and shut that one.  We are in a communal bedroom.  There are others there.  It’s very 70’s looking.  Army green carpet, mattresses on the floor, magazines and notebooks strewn about, tv with rabbit ears on showing cartoons.  Over the PA system a voice announces that there will be no rehearsal tonight and everyone should stay in their rooms because someone let the tiger in again.
The next day, walking through the campus park, which looks like the Seurat painting, I see the rhino minding his own business near a pond as people mill about.  The tiger is strolling along bothering no one.  A wild dog of some sort approaches a black poodle on the lawn and I yell at it, pushing an energy force at it. “No!” and both dogs sit looking at me. The poodle looks confused as if it doesn’t know what it did wrong, not knowing the danger next to it.  The wild dog looks interested, as if he didn’t know anyone could see him and unsure of why he stopped. I’m a little nervous for the poodle, but also a little nervous for myself.  I didn’t really expect him to listen to me and react like a tame dog.  But then why did I yell in the first place?