I had a very odd dream last night that my two dear dear friends Dennis and Justin and i arrived at Dennis' apartment to find a stranger lurking in the hallway insisting he lived there. We followed him to see which apartment he lived in, but he went all the way up to the roof where he was living in a tent. It turned out there was a whole colony of hippy-ish and hipster-y artists living up there. There were even billboards up there advertising better, cheaper Park Slope rooftops to camp on.

One girl had a pup tent set up with Turkish rugs and a wooden desk supporting an old typewriter she was laboring in front of. She was peering through the back flap of her tent which perfectly framed a portion of the Brooklyn Bridge. Justin (who is a brilliant writer and my partner on many artistic projects. Currently we are working on a graphic novel) and I looked over the girls shoulder to see what she was typing. It was some sort of detective or mystery novel inspired by her view of the Brooklyn Bridge. Justin and I laughed at her for being so obvious as to cull inspiration from such a well loved and famous landmark, but deep inside she made me insecure with her dedication to her creativity.

Then I woke up.