Bear with me. This is
trivial. And then maybe it isn’t.
Last night I dreamed I
drove down a long, winding highway in the dark to a great lodge, festively lit.
Upon parking, I was greeted deferentially and shown to a huge stage with sound,
lights and seating for thousands. People with tickets and drinks in hand were
gradually being seated, talking among themselves. A crew was wiring up mics and
amplifiers, a sound man was testing levels. A buzz was in the air.
I looked at my watch: it was 7:25. My host said, “You’re on at eight.”