I got a job organizing confessions that were either non-coerced or not given under oath. I am unclear of the status of these confessions or of their value, but the job interested me enough to make an elaborate 2-trains-and-a-bus commute to the office.

The subway train conductor announces the World Trade Center stop. I take the escalator to the WTC Concourse, which I find either fully restored or never destroyed. The buildings are gone but I find myself looking up for them.

I realized I left my bag on the train. The bag, and a scrap of paper in particular, had the information about my new job. It was the only way I could know where to go, who to call, or the name of the company. I remembered none of these things.

An emptiness filled me, and in the mental weakness of the moment I imagined that this paradox presented a philosophical abyss that none could rationalize.

I went back down to the subway to see if I could find the bag, realizing then that there never was a bag, that the job I wanted was in the Twin Towers, and that the scrap of paper I sought disappeared 15 years from now.

Filled with emptiness. Awake it sounds like a feeble philosophical dilemma, even a cliché. In the dream it caused dry heaves of the soul, which come to think of it sounds like another cliché.