M4W, 27, Saturday: You: tall, petite brunette, immolating in the middle of Damen, near Armitage. Me: tall, balding, college-aged male, circling you. I was trying to figure out a way to get closer without incinerating. I think our eyes met a few times. (Yes?) You were amazingly still, standing beside what appeared to be your mother (also very pretty!). I couldn't approach you then, but would very much like to have the conversation we should have had that afternoon.

W4W, 41, my dream, Thursday evening: I passed you returning from a run on the lake. The lake had a seamed mouth and it was singing something in French (?). You (short, squat, rather simian) seized me by my shoulders and declared yourself a fan of the bridge of my nose. You looked just like my third-grade art teacher, but sounded like my old roommate. You may also remember me from the dream where I'm in Paris, but it's really just the back of my mother's closet. I want to see you again.

M4W, ?, Wednesday afternoon: You were either dead or sleeping in some brush in Grant Park. Red dress. Skin a sandy color. Let's have dinner!

W4M, 19, 146 express bus, just after 6, Tuesday evening: You were tattooed with the name of a stage actress from New York. I was the anonymous, thick-hipped girl sweating and smiling in the seat across from you. I've been thinking about you all day. I remember you saying to someone on your cell phone, "I'm just looking for a girl to juggle." I myself am looking for a thoughtful lover. Let's bridge this divide.

NV4M, in front of Nordstroms, Monday: This was about 2 PM. You: freckled, soapy-smelling, wearing chunky shoes and overalls. Me: nebulous void. You stepped tentatively into me and then retreated. Why? It feels so good to be swallowed. Don't worry. Same time next week? I'll be waiting.

THE SLEEPER

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