When I wake up I am next to a girl. Last night I thought she was the girl from The New Inquiry. I look at her dresser and see a collection or “bouquet” of small, shell-shaped soaps. I start to “doubt myself.” I want to call her Megan, or Meghan, but I don’t know if that’s her name. Rachel. She has a short haircut that is “frumpy” in an “alt” way. I dress myself in “rescued” urban outfitters “slim fit” jeans and an “Obey” t-shirt, in the dark. I “help myself” to a granola bar from the kitchen. Then I notice the kitchen table. The copies of Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot,” Kafka’s “Amerika,” and Bulgakov’s “Master and Margarita,” next to a copy of the New York Times Arts Section neatly folded to an article about the party two nights ago at Tom Wolfe’s brownstone/art gallery for the release of his new novel exploring the alt lit scene, “A “Man” in “Full.”” I begin to believe I was right. The door opposite from the door I came out of opens, a girl comes out wearing a “pajama” t-shirt and boxers. It is definitely the girl from the New Inquiry. I “came home” with her roommate. Megan/Meghan/Rachel looks at the granola bar in my hand. I forgot to put it in my pocket.