I dream of collecting things, with friends. The police arrive and take away our phones.
My friend has a pet deer. It has a flat piece of card across it’s face, to keep it calm. It obsessively licks my arms and face for salt. A worried lizard chirps next to me in the sofa. I reassure it.
I take some things to sell, books mainly, but the stall is closed. Naz is presenting an art workshop for kids instead.
Women from online dating sites introduce themselves. I appear to be in demand. A man returns small items stolen from me. I let him keep a twix, as a reward for his delayed honesty.
I head downstairs. Someone asks if I really need a book on Aperture. I take things to my fathers office in the basement of the theatre. I have to hurry, he’s on on stage soon. The stairs become a downward slide, at the bottom, I swing into his office and drop of my things, saying hello to Mr Watson, who shares his office. I’m nearly back at the top when I slide back down again, I grab at a polythene strip to slow my descent. At the bottom, near dad’s office, is a dark place I associate with fear from previous dream. A glowing figure emerges from the dark. “Mr Entertainment” I call him.
I no longer fear him or this place. A giant baby looms to intimidate me. I recognise it trying to provoke my first, survival, circuit and tell him he needs to do better to provoke a reaction. A giant soft toy pokes me. I feel nothing. I demonstrate my control of the environment by passing my fingers into its chest, as if it wasn’t there.
I turn to start back up the slope. Two busty women bikers race me up on their bikes. I fly, straight up into the theatre, just in time to see my dad take to the stage, he’d be so proud of me.