Slumber Citizen 3 comes over for some late afternoon sex. When she has sex, she sweats. He doesn’t, but she does. This time though, she sweats so profusely that she slips from his grip. She wipes the sweat off with the sheets, and he reaches to pull her back in. His penis slips out. It slips out again. They try various other combinations and positions, but his penis keeps slipping out and can’t find its way back in.
When they’re done, he doesn’t speak aloud what’s weighing on his mind. Neither does she. He wonders whether all this slipping was the manifestation of his dream or hers. What did she dream last night? Does she remember it? If so, then this excessive sweating happens to be the manifestation of her usual self, her usual passion – just enhanced to an elevated degree. Which is fine and dandy because it should be all about passion. But what about all his slipping? Maybe her slipping from his grip is entirely his fault, or the fault of his dream. What was this dream? If he asks her whether she remembers her dream, she will chafe and refuse to say. She loves the experience of various selves, the excitement and the thrill. And so she never questions it. He had loved it, but now he can’t stop himself from consciously reflecting, nor does he want to.
He’s not aware, and neither is she, that this was her last night’s dream:
She’s driving an old red Volvo station wagon. The car is hers. She drives slowly behind another car, but she can’t reach the break. Her leg is either too short, or the brake peddle too far down to reach. She stretches her leg to try to reach the brake. Her car is getting too close to the car in front. Her car is accelerating now, and she can’t reach either the accelerator or the brake. Her body is sliding down the seat and she can’t see out the window any more. She slides further and further down until her body goes full circle, full circle, full circle…
The Hungry Artist 