The antiques store

I'm in an antiques store of sort — there's stuff everywhere, but it's not clutter; it actually has some kind of organization to it. My companion, a woman I don't think I know in real life, is telling me that I am to move a video camera over all the goods in one take, almost like it's a tracking shot (but I don't remember seeing any of the equipment required for a tracking shot). The camera I'm using is some wacky combination of a mounted stop-motion camera and an old-timey folding camera, but it moves smoothly and takes video, not still photos. I focus the viewfinder on one item, then another, the another, taking care to transition between the items with ease in one take. I nudge the camera a little hard and the picture goes shaky. We have to cut. But the woman with me isn't mad. In fact, she seems surprised I managed to get as long a take as I did.

We move on to our next task, which is finding the items in the store that have big tags on them. She tells me that these items need their Christmas cards signed. There's a clustered of tagged items hanging near the ceiling. Somehow we get one down, and she shows me what to write in the cards.

[line I can't remember]

The Citizens

I get my own tagged item and begin to write in the card, and am taken aback when my handwriting looks nothing like what I know it should. It's sloppy and childish. I'm embarrassed. I finish one card and then notice a little wrapped gift sitting on the counter next to me. It has my name on it. I realize that it's from my sister and I'm probably not supposed to see it.

[I think I lost some stuff here. Feels like I did, but I don't know what.]

I hear a baby crying, and turn to see where it's coming from. My eyes snap open and I realize the crying is coming from downstairs. The neighbors' new baby says hello.

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