in a classroom loft.  i’m 14 or 15, stuck in some kind of mystery school detention center.  i put my money down carefully on the desk but the bills are picked up by a draft and go over the edge.  I stare down and see that they made it outside and landed next to the cellar, in the miniature golf pool. i ask to be excused.  i tell the teacher that my $120 is outside in the pool with the belt that sorts golf balls.  I have to go down there and get my floating money before the belt picks it up and takes it down.  the woman from American Gothic is not impressed by my urgency.  she tells me that she doesn’t see what the problem is.  “if the belt picks it up, just reverse time and make it spit it back out. you can do that if you sit down to figure it out.” i protest that i can’t think about anything when i’m so worried.  she tells me to finish my work and when i’m done I can ask the man in the cellar window to turn off the belt.  but when i go out there i don’t see a window at all.  just a tiny little white shed over the hum of the pool’s conveyor motor.  so i climb the fence and wade into the pool with my shoes and socks still on to pick up the wet bills that remain.