Barrage

A guy with no shirt on is standing on a platform in what feels like a warehouse with an indoor swimming pool. He has my fraternity Greek letters tattooed across his chest and a giant rose on his stomach. He is giving a speech or just yelling. There are a few other guys with rose tattoos standing around. The guy talks about something like the order of roses like it’s a secret group and them mentions something about a rose movie that makes whoever watches it want to have sex.

A tall machine that consists of three legs with a large chair on top like a tripod. It breaks during a test run and one leg collapses. A scientist in a white lab coat explains how he will improve the next model, perhaps with extendable and retractable legs.

Walking through a resort area, I admire the architecture of a large hotel with hundreds of rooms designed to look like a mountain chalet. A woman on a large tire bike pedals past on a black top path and speaks to man outside a café about going down to the dock.
I am standing in the cul-de-sac of the house I grew up in Louisville. A car pulls up across the street and a redhead from work gets out. I greet her, put my arm around her waist and walk her towards the front lawn, where I introduce her to Brooke. There is a barbeque going on in the back yard. It starts to rain and Stacy and I clean up the house before the guests come in. I pick up folded laundry in the living room to put it away.

I drive past a series of strip malls in an unknown city. I pass one that has the offices of two advertising agencies. I recognize them, even though one is being remodeled and plywood covers the stone arch at its entrance.