found drama

It’s my Hunter Avenue house but my parents own it for some reason.  A. & I just live here.  I’ve been at the stove making some kind of sauce heavy on black pepper and butter (it keeps getting reduced & clarified) and A. is talking to me about something when a rabbit appears at the top of the stairs.  “Oh, a rabbit.”  A. thinks it’s our rabbit.  But this one is brown and much bigger.  She catches it and ushers it out the front door.  Then I notice a cat.  Not our cat.  This one is a little smaller and grey.  And tabby?  No.  It’s two strange cats.  Both grey but only one tabby.  I name them Smoke (the grey one) and Sage (the tabby one) but they aren’t too friendly.  They run downstairs where I notice the basement door is open.

When I step through the basement door instead of our back yard it’s the west side of the Kremlin.  (Not sure how I know it’s the west-facing side.)  Some woman I’m with (very tall, brown hair, well-dressed in a suit) is explaining that the walls of the Kremlin are so thick that they could withstand a nuclear attack.  But not only that, since the sides are decorated with all of these metal plaques, it could do well against the radiation, too.  I notice that travelling with us is another woman and her son (whom I know somehow is adopted).  When we get inside the Kremlin, the well-dressed woman introduces us to some other woman who is caring for a 19-ish woman with Down’s Syndrome.  Apparently the 19 year old and the other kid are somehow related.  The little kid winds up being really upset because it turns out that his older sister is set for life because of some trust fund.

He runs down deeper into the Kremlin.  I pursue him and by the time we get to the end, we’ve taken an elevator into space.  This is the only thing that seems to take his mind off of the trauma.  He’s going to be the first kid to space-walk.

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