I was thrown awake by someone’s – who else – sharp voice in the early morning and my brain’s too tired to even try to force itself to remember the full contents of the dream.
But here it goes. The remnants of the dream.
I dreamt that we – identities known in real life – had arranged to meet at one of those fancy restaurants in a place that resembled Sri Hartamas or Bangsar, couldn’t make out.
Who would have thought that I’ll be the one who picked up the tab? I did, anyway, and it pinched my wallet to the point of strangulation. As if that wasn’t enough, I almost got lost with the confusing traffic signs on the drive home.