Dreamlife

  I go to my friend J.’s
apartment and learn that my cantankerous cat Fluffy (deceased in waking
life) ripped out his throat. I ponder the imprudence of his getting too
close when he petted her. I plan to send his dad my condolences and
wonder how to dispose of his belongings. I am also curious to read his
work; he was writing on something that intrigues me but my waking
memory has suppressed what that might be. Fortunately, J.’s ghost shows
up in very good spirits to offer post-mortem guidance.

  A very brief dream. I am not
the protagonist but I have access to his thoughts and perhaps see
through his eyes. He arrives at a city where he is to observe a major
public event. However, it is late and he is turned away when he tries
to enter the facility where it will take place. So, he leaves with the
intent of returning in the morning and goes to seek lodgings. He enters
an anteroom that looks more like an office for some public service than
a hotel. The middle aged man behind the counter asks him to fill out a
checkin form. He hesitates when it comes to filling out his age and
writes that he is 21 or 22. I don’t know what age he actually is but I
sense he is mistating it. He hands the form to the attendant, who scans
it and looks up with a leering expression. “Is that so?,” asks the
latter. His eyes narrow and he looks at not-me intently. Not-me doesn’t
answer; he begins to feel the suggestion of a malaise and then suddenly
a rush of ice-cold air emanating from the direction of the attendant
seems to pass through his body. I awaken.