I'm in this empty room that, to me, represents my first house in Multnomah Village, after I've already moved out. The room is empty except this table, and on it is a large bug with red and black stripes, like a wasp. But it isn't real, it's a little machine, and I'm showing it to somebody, look how real it looks - and crawls, and can even fly. It's pretty freaky.

But then there is a wasp in the room, which I point out, you can tell is real by the sound - my bug doesn't make that buzzing. It looks aggressive, too. Usually there's a fly swatter hanging behind the door - yes, there it is.

I don't remember if I swat the wasp or chase it away, but I am distracted by some writing that I notice, very small, up in the corner of the wall. Somebody had a secret message for me, I suspect my friend Mark. It recalls my graffiti wall from my Garden Home house. I climb up there (as if on a ladder or chair, but I don't recall any such object), and suddenly there is a loud crash from another part of the house which distracts me, as if some heavy thing just collapsed. I don't know what caused the noise, and I yell out "What?" as if asking the noise to repeat itself so I can get a better listen, and then I laugh at myself for doing that, and think I shouldn't be so loud because I'm not supposed to be here, I don't live here any more.