standing in a park scene very much like  Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon.  i came here to support the protests but the crowd has thinned and i promised my family i would see my dad while he is in town.  as i decide to leave i am shot.  i don’t see who is shooting or even know where they are coming from.  no one panics.  maybe no one else was hit.  i’m hit.  right below my left breast, in the ribs. but if i go to the hospital i’ll miss my dad’s performance.  so i walk to the old house in the quiet city where my family is.  my dad arrives and meets his buddies to rehearse.  They call themselves the Kensington Bards and they are so fucking boring. i read their songs and it just looks like a LARPer’s script to me.  “Are they ever going to go on?” a sister complains. “Is anyone going to notice that I’m shot?” i ask in the same tone. They say that they did notice but they just didn’t think it was that bad because i wasn’t complaining.  Ugh. I tell them I’ll see them later and I leave to walk myself to the hospital.