Michaelangelo and I moved into a shared apartment on the ground level of what appeared to be a strip mall, or some shady public place. The entrance to the apartment consisted of an enormous garage-door-like gate and also a glass pull-down structure that blocked out sound, but still gave visible access into the apartment. We shared this apartment with many others. I was sitting on the couch holding a dildo in my hand, but held it close to my body, attempting to shield it away from the public walking in. An angry, horrendous man in a suit sat in a chair in front of me. He lunged at me. Everyone knew what I was about to do. There was no privacy. Another man beside him, who resembled my uncle, was aware of this man's, his friend's, dangerous composition, but still gave me a condemning look. It all felt like a hallucinating punishment. I could not shut the public out.
I caught up to Michaelangelo in a group of strangers walking away from the apartment in a foreign city. Where was he going without inviting me, without letting me know? It was possible I had been sleeping. He wanted nothing to do with me.