I made this curious dream about Isabelle. We were having a meal and I suddenly realise how old, swollen and lined her face was. Richard, her husband was present to, although his appearance had not changed. Where was the beautiful Isabelle of not so long ago that I knew? Her face would continually morph into something different, but still retaining her basic features.
During the same dream, I was in a foreign city, trying to keep track with a group of friends. I kept pushing the wrong doors and ending up in a totally different place, as desperate and clueless as an ant caught in a maze.
Outside Amadeo and the light designer were still working. It was already nearly three in the morning.