On Furlough

Last night I made an appearance in a friend's dream. In the dream everyone she had ever known was in prison. Even people from primary school. "We were all in prison." she wrote,"I could pick my room, though - so I was wandering around, checking the decor, found a nice one with a small painting attached to the ceiling. You had privileges, what in the States are called furloughs, so you didn't have to be in prison all the time. You were coming back from being out and I wanted to show you the cell I picked. You came in, had a cursory glance and left totally uninterested. Didn't even notice the painting on the ceiling."

For some reason I feel inordinately pleased by this account.