trade in your candy

2 bocas with aguacate, tomato, lettuce, mustard, fries, water

first part is forgotten.

I think I'm at the gallery. There's a room near the workshop end fof the M space with white walls. There's a giant display of stacked candy boxes against one wall, a few different brands of mixed chocolates. Russel Stouffers, Whitmans, and so on. I have a small box with 9 pieces in my hand, but I think I can trade for another box that's larger. Which one, though? This one specifically mentions having lemon cremes-- I'd love it, Josh would hate it. Damn. There are other people shopping through the candy. I'm starting to feel uncomfortable about trading up in front of people. I can't decide.

All this time, there's two elderly ladies in hospital beds at the other end of the room, always jabbering at each other. One is going on and on about something she's seen and wants to show to the other. Something to do with a person wearing a baggy shirt over another, certain glasses...something. I become a rather husky teenager, probably 15 or 16. I'm wearing an orange t-shirt with another over it that sometimes is translucent, sometimes black, sometimes white. And giant sunglasses. I've been eating some of that candy, and I'm starting to vibrate, freak out, jerk around. This makes the old lady's point exactly, just like she said. They see something in, on, or through me, something psychadellic. I'm a convulsing prop in any case.