I was in my old
high school in
Portland, on the second floor. I was giving someone a
tour, showing them what in real life are
classrooms but which in the dream were
boiler rooms. I explained to them how the
Nazis used to burn people in them.The rooms were dark and empty with splotchy
red paint on the walls. I had brief black and white
cartoon images of the Nazis in
America run through my head.
Soon, I was sitting on the floor with my neighbor Sarah from Texas and her parents. But her parents were very Minnesotan in mannerisms, accent, and demeanor. And her father was black. Sarah gave me something she called a jalapeno, but it was the color and texture of a pepperoncini like you get with pizza, and it was long and wrinkled. I ate it. It wasn't spicy, and it tasted like a cucumber. We chatted for a while, then Sarah's parents decided to give me more food. I got a pita wrap, with lettuce, strange veggie burger patties, chicken, and sauce. I removed the chicken and ate it.
Majaha, another student here in St. Paul, walked by, and we exchanged greetings. Daniel Dreier, a friend from Portland, walked by, and we chatted briefly in German.