There was a post-apocalyptic feeling to it. No destruction, just a sense that things were made from scraps in a way, the golden age had passed, it was the twilight of the world. It wasn't a bad feeling, just a soft kind of melancholy. I had married a Korean woman, I think, and I had the same feeling about her. It was make-do, she was the girl I just found by the side of the road as things fell apart.
I have been making sandwiches with batteries in them. Sandwiches of boiled veges on white bread, I think, all with a big battery like a slab of steak in them. The batteries are very thin black plastic on the outside, but when you bite into them they are quite soft. The middle has a kind of cloudy clearness like a lychee or Turkish Delight, but is a bit more solid. I know I have been doing this for a while, but I suddenly recoil from it. There is an oily, acidic undertone to the taste, and the casing is crunchy and plasticky. I'm sure there are heavy metals and all kinds of nasty things in there. I put down my half eaten battery sandwich in disgust.
Later I make a kind of lemon meringue pie, with linzertorte for the crust. The lemon meringue pie was piled on top like a dome. It was quite popular. I can picture old high school friends around the table. But there is a sense that they are moving on, they are distancing themselves somehow.
Then I am in a hotel. I have some embarrassing music on my ipod, but the stereo system manages to sync itself with the iPod wirelessly and start playing my music to everyone. That room is like a nursing home. Then an image of me sitting on white cast-iron outdoor furniture in the sunroom.