I called my nana “Mom”. It’s the second time in the dream, and we make a little joke out of it.
Leaving motorcycle across the street in my neighbors driveway temporarily. Dad’s white car is parked across the street.
Feeling like a loser, living in my parents new apartment, trying to decide my life. Only so many places I could go, maybe Palm Springs, maybe a traveling job like a trucker, build a small place in the woods. Also, my parents don’t know I vape — one more thing I guess. I wear an elaborate creased-shoulder shirt, one with a small triangle hole cut out of it. It’s an odd detail, but I know I couldn’t replicate that myself if I tried.