I’m walking through a fancy three-story apartment. It’s almost more like a museum or a private club than a home. It’s not fussy, the decor is very modern and sleek. At first, the apartment seems impossibly large to me, but after I walk through it a few times I start to see how all the rooms fit together, like I see things from a different perspective. For example, I might see one room when walking in one direction, but then when I come back another way I realize it’s right next to a different room.
I do a load of laundry, but I only put one or two undergarments in the machine. When I come back later, they have been removed from the washer and put into the dryer. I think my father moved them.
A young boy about 5 or 6 is walking through the apartment with his father. He is very well-dressed and wearing expensive sneakers. I talk briefly to the father and then realize it’s time for me to go. I notice the boy has disappeared and I keep an eye out for him as I’m leaving.
As I reach the exit, I notice that the boy is in the bathroom, and he motions for me to come and help him. I’m a little hesitant, but he makes it seem urgent. The boy has pooped in his pants and needs me to help him clean it up. I tell him that his father will come down and deal with it, but he insists that he needs my help immediately, and that all I have to do is take the poop out. His pants are lying on the floor and I walk over to inspect them. I grab some tissues and remove the feces and flush them down the toilet.
