Unfortunately the initial part of this dream vacated my brain immediately upon waking, but I do remember the climactic moments of the piece.

I was holding tea in a polystyrene cup. It was lidless, so I was extra careful not to spill a drop. Upon climbing the stairs to the second level of Watford’s Gade car park, I happened to glance upward to witness an old man, naked except for an unbuttoned black shirt, squatting and trying to administer a dump. He saw me.

Presumably angry at my interruption of his straining session, he promptly began chasing me through the structure, shouting as his rude-meats rippled and swayed. But no way in hell was I going to spill my tea.

Even when my subconscious takes over, I’m a true Brit through and through.

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