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.
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