My own bed, my old dreams.
Last night I was outside the Royal Exchange again. The sky was blue, the air was crisp and cold, but all was peaceful. Somehow, even within the dream, I could remember what takes place – and so knew what was coming next. I knew that a hoard of people would descend upon me, that I would be thrust to the ground, either because they are after me or because I am in the way. For whatever reason though, I don’t feel frightened. I don’t feel as if I'm in trouble. In fact I stand there and enjoy the peace, relishing that odd sensation in The City – total quiet. I know I should panic, that I should run – but instead I wait there. And even when I hear the distant rumble of feet, hear the mass of ugly humanity rushing towards me, I don’t turn and flee. Instead I open my arms, ready to greet it.
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