Sacha Baumann is an artist and designer living and working in Los Angeles.

We will become silhouettes

I had a dream last night and this time it did not fit me like a glove (yeah, rock out, whatever).

I'm the passenger in an impossibly sexy green GT that's rumbling through a sad looking town in California. The windows are rolled down and hot air is blowing into the car. I smile because I really like the car, it's vibrations and the low growl it makes. The sun feels good and I get out of the seat and thrust my upper body out the window.

But suddenly I'm uneasy and pop back in. The car kicks up trash from the side of the road and dirt blows in through the open window. The town is abandoned. I'm sweating. I turn to look at the driver to ask where we are, but I can't. I feel him sitting next to me on the black vinyl seat, but I cannot turn my head to look. I know he is in charge. I also know that he is handsome and that he scares me.

It's night now and I'm cold and sitting alone in the green GT. It's parked in the driveway of my neighbors' house. No lights shine from any of the houses on the street and it is very dark. I squint and see that the driver is standing on the sidewalk directly in front of my house, looking quietly and intensely at it. It is the house I live in now, only I don't live there, my parents do. I am confused and nervous.

I watch from the neighbors' driveway with a sickening sense in my stomach. I want to look away, but again I cannot turn my head. I notice the driver is wearing a black velvet blazer and white dress shirt with large unbuttoned cuffs. I cannot see his face. His head turns towards me and I realize he is looking right at me and has a smirk on his face.

And then The Roots are talking about the tipping point and I am lying in my bed and my mouth is dry and my neck is stiff and I blink and I am awake.

What you waiting for

Take me out