(Entered in paper journal at 10 AM at Red Horse cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I had come in from some area like a mall parking lot. I was now in a building like a big-box store that had been converted into an office space. The entrance foyer or lobby was like a small corridor of cheap, greyish, plaster walls, with a couple of glass doorways.
I now walked into a large room like a meeting room. The room looked cheap and only half-built, like a makeshift room for exhibition. The room had a strange, almost pentagonal shape (something like a pentagonal version of the room housing Judy Chicago's The Dinner Party at the Brooklyn Museum of Art). The walls didn't reach all the way up to the ceiling. They were grey-white.
Throughout the room long folding tables were set up, possibly with an outer triangle or pentagon of tables set up around the other tables. This was a "meal party" set up for New York Cares volunteers or team leaders. The tables already had plates of food set on them. The food didn't look very appetizing. It looked like brown mole poblano sauce and some small discs of food.
There was a front table near the door by which I entered. A tallish, pale-skinned, frumpy-looking, red-haired woman sat at the table, apparently signing everybody in. I walked up to her. She may have been wearing a floppy, black, knit, beret-style (but large) hat. For some reason the woman stuck me as someone I just didn't want to speak to at all.
The woman asked me what I thought about something, possibly the quality of events, etc. I may have said something nice.
The woman told me about how events like this one had such low turnout nowadays. I looked around the room. Barely anybody was here. I thought, If we keep getting low turnout like this, we'll have to stop having this kind of event.
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