In a school, with lots of people around. We're hanging out in a hallway. I'm zipping around on a bike. Somebody's handing out condoms with somebody's face on the packet, like Madonna or Shakira or something. People are opening them and blowing them up, tossing them around, and all kinds of stuff. AB is there, and he's not doing well. He's pale, and his breathing is shallow. I get on my bike, and ride through the hallways, turning a couple of times, and fighting through all the people to get to the clinic that's in a corner. I tell them about it, and they say to bring him over, and quickly. I go back to get him, and load him on the bike behind me. As I'm riding through the crowds, I scream at everyone to get out of my way. It feels like I'm lost at one point, but we make it there ok. He's really sick, but they won't take him right away. They say he's allergic to the latex. Then they tell us they want $40,000 to take him in. I freak out, and start ranting about American healthcare, and all kinds of stuff. They ask him something about his parents, and then tell us that they'll need $68,000 up front before they'll help him. I ask them if there's anywhere else we can go, and they say he's dying, and there isn't time. They need to help him now. I'm so pissed, but I hand them my AmEx.

In the original house where W. grew up. We're either living there or staying there for a while. She's there, along with her dad. I'm standing by a little alcove off the living room. It's a sleeping bunk, with a woven blanket on top. Looks cozy. Her dad comes up, and notices that the doors are damaged, with chips taken out of the edge. He asks me when that happened, and I say I don't know, and that they're all like that, all over the house. W. comes over, and he tells a little story about how when she was little, and they got in a big fight. She hit him, and he smacked her in the face. He's chuckling, but she looks sad, and that makes me sad. He goes into the kitchen, to the right, and she sits down on the couch in the living room. I sit next to her. She's really upset, and I start getting sniffly. We're close, and she tells me she loves me. I say the same. Her dad comes in with a metal money box. He sits on the edge of the couch, and opens the top. There's a few bills and some change. He asks her if she'd like to be in Paris for six months. She claps her hands and with delight, squeals "Oh daddy!" I laugh, and say "You know how much a trip to Paris for six months was? And is?"