I had a wild dream. I went up north to see a play. The north of england. It was the world premiere of a play by a friend of mine. While there I visit a friend who is a ballet teacher and her student, a very pale, blond teenage boy who is a bit fat and sulky, The teacher says you should meet Kevan, his brother (spelled with an a in my dream.) Kevan is a young and wide-eyed kid wtih incredible charisma, a bit like Timmy Valentine in my novel but with golden skin. He's a dancer, too. Kevan invites me to his estate in the south because I have a few days left in England and nowhere to go. I ride south in a train with the author Norman Spinrad, who entertains all the way south with witty stories, but leaves me at Kevan's estate. Kevan has extremely posh and weird parents and they throw a huge dinner in a sort of atrium of their palace, and Kevan dances to entertain the guests. It is a dance about love and cuminates in a furious fast section. Afterwards I spend the night (innocently) in Kevan's room and when we awaken he declares that he is going to order a scrumptious breakfast and meet his brother, the fat one.

We enter a really impressive palatial dining room and the brother is there cowering in a corner. It takes me a while to realize it is the same one I met up north. The dancing teacher, my friend is there, as are a governess and other hangers on typical of an aristocratic household. While Kevan orders bacon and eggs, they ask me what I am doing here and I proceed to narrate to them the entire story of this dream all the way from my friends play to my journey south. 

At the end the governess says, "But what do you think of Kevan's parents?"

I shrug. "They are what they are," I say, Apparently it is the right answer and they all nod sagely. I wake up.