Tracey and I were in our own apartment (looked just like the Residence Life Center at Columbia, but with higher ceilings and large windows high up on the wall, brightening the entire room and giving the wall a quality that looked just like the couch picture from Jawbreaker’s "Dear You" CD). She had either just fucked or was just telling me about someone she had just fucked and didn’t want me to think about it. I tried to keep thinking about it, but somehow for a while I didn’t. The radio next to my head kept reminding me about what she had done, which wanted to snap me out of the daze I was in, lying on the bed kissing her. She was wearing very little. Maybe just a nightgown that wasn’t on all the way. When I would think about what had happened I would try to get up, but she would tighten her arms around me. Then I would forget again.
I woke up and told Tracey about what had happened as if it was a dream, only it wasn’t. I kept thinking of some sort of video game screen and of getting away, but I was stuck in this loop of forgetting and remembering what she had done. I wanted to be violent, but was instead confused by the looping time.