Working with someone at a home that belongs to my grandma. A cousin or something, whose work ethic is appalling. We are painting concrete bricks yellow as a sort of parking space destination. The paint is difficult to use; it comes out of the aerosol can like water. Also the color is not correct. More white than yellow.

Then we are inside, laying down linoleum. It's old linoleum that has been torn up once already. I explain we shouldn't use it, because it will take up so much glue. The cousin is indifferent.

It is grandma's kitchen, kind of, and maybe uncle Joe is there. And yet it's a strange place. The linoleum is a green color and feels very familiar.

I say we should buy new linoleum, that we'll go to Home Depot sometime later. I take a square of the linoleum as a color sample.