I was in a brothel in this dream from last night. A few things happened before I was there, but it was just that feeling that the dream was longer than what I could recall. The brothel had a lounge area in which clients could sit and just talk to the girls before they decided what they wanted and from whom they wanted it. It wasn’t garish or particularly luxurious. No red velvet or chandeliers. The girls were dressed appropriately, though, in skimpy outfits and lingerie. There were other men there but they weren’t important and thus a blur. Objects in the periphery. I sat on the left side of a couch and had a tumbler with about three fingers of brown liquor. Probably whiskey. It was close to dark, but not, which meant the sun was on the border. I watched for a while. Girls came by and sat next to me, inquiring as to what I was after. I couldn’t pick up the vibe I want from someone I want to fuck, so I told them I wasn’t interested just yet, so as to not hurt their feelings. They walked away and wandered to the others. I sat and watched, looking at the way they interacted with one another. Gentle touches on shoulders, hands placed on the rise of the bared lower back. Eventually, a girl sat next to me. Her hair was dark and straightened. Her skin brown like mocha, like the girls I knew from the Inglewood, long ago. She was dressed in pink lace lingerie, which blended into her darker skin. I took her for a latina. I initially told her I wasn’t interested just yet. I raised my glass to show her. Still, she remained beside me and said something. It was too low for me to hear. “What?” I said. She spoke up a little more, but I still couldn’t make it out. “I—I can’t hear you. Speak up.” I finally heard something like, “Why’re you not—” I scooted closer to listen. “Again,” I said. “Why aren’t you interested?” she said. She didn’t have Anglo features. Her nose was a little broad and her lips full and radiant. She wore pink lip gloss or lipstick. I could never tell. I leaned in closer and she smiled. She was wearing braces, which really struck me for a moment. A brief moment. Someone called her attention and she turned away from me, which brought me out of a daze I’d fallen into. I reached up with my right hand, toward the back of her head. Her hair felt a little rough, but not greasy or sweaty, like she’d just gotten started for the evening. She scooted closer, lifted her legs over mine. I pulled her closer with my left arm and kissed her. I sensed the taste of her lips, the warmth and lightness of her breath. Like I’d kissed her before. The sensory memory was strong.

The motor of a boat outside roared by. The dream ended. “Fuckin’ hell,” I said, and stood up to get ready for work.