As I write this, I find unsettled my dream-conviction that "Adrienne Rich" starts with a V.

I was wandering the streets of the Sewer City. As always in my dreams of big cities, the action takes place at the convergence of two wide streets, marked by the corner of a triangular building. Sometimes there is a door on that sharp corner. This time there was not.

The two wide streets converged into one that proceeded into a slum. And just over that boundary sat a purple procelain collection hat. Behind it, an older woman in hip vintage clothing was performing confrontational performance poetry: Adrienne Rich.