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[Loud Whispers]

The dream started simple enough, I had a wheely chair, I had a friend to meetup with in East London, and thus I wheeled myself from SE London towards London Bridge. I went fast and got quite a lot of curious looks, people wondering what the hell I was doing, but I made surprisingly good speed. I did feel bad when one person stepped off a path to make way for me, but by that point I was going too fast and had also begun to spin horizontally to control the chair, so I slowed down somewhat to regain control.
At last I made it to London Bridge, stopping short of a tunnel that would take me there. I abandoned the wheely chair behind some bins, as I no longer had need of it and using it beyond the tunnel would be dangerous owing to the large throngs of people and traffic. Walking on foot forwards I made myself to the station, encountering a friend who went by a different name to the one I know him by in real life - in the dream, he called himself Ben.

Ben and I exchange tales of the day, Ben incredulous that I had come all this way via wheely chair. He asks me if I was going to travel the same direction as him, I tell him yes, but alas I am waiting to meetup with another friend so he goes onwards without me. I misidentify someone else as my friend, before sitting down on a chair. Eventually I see my other friend and greet him cordially, we go past the ticket barriers into the underground station to go to East London. We walk past the barriers, approaching the first escalator. This one slopes down at a 45* angle and goes on for 40 steps, we stand and wait for it to gently take us down.
We walk 5 meters to reach the next set of escalators which is when I notice something strange. Ahead of me is what appears to be two men, one naked but for a dog's mask, holding a leash attached to a man wearing a dalmation gimp-dog suit thing. At least, that's what it seemed like from that distance, given great confusion because the dalmation gimp switched from lying on the step most convincingly like a dog (with a human head, granted I could not see its face, only its long hair and head outline from behind), to standing up bipedally.

Walking closer I see clearer, the dalmation is in fact a real dog wearing a rather absurd human mask, and the man is wearing a dalmation dog mask. Wondered if he was a weirdo or just doing a stunt, and tried taking a picture of him to see what others thought of them. For some reason, even when standing next to them, my camera refused to focus on them - meaning I got clear photos but they were always this distorted blur within them. We go down another flight of escalators and turn left, going to the train platform. What was unusual about this train platform was that it had two tracks, but one platform, meaning only one of the tracks was accessible by people - the other one just led off to another undergounrd station, presumably farther off. Two trains come from these tracks at the same time, and all of a sudden at this moment the man wearing the dog head and the dog wearing a man's head jump into the tracks, avoiding the first train and then the second - I only saw for a brief moment the dog squeezing into a pipe followed by the man.

The way they squeezed into that pipe was not at all natural for any creatures possessed of endoskeletons. That pipe would have only fit my arm.
I then see to my right, above, the man and dog creatures emerge from another pipe, impossibly small, with impossible speed. I, my sister (for now she was there) and my friend, look at this thing. I drag everyone out of the station to the steps seeking the nearest exit saying this is not natural, I hear over the platform speaker the operator warning there's an attack. I run up the first flight of steps, my sister holding onto a bag at my back, my friend 2 meters behind, though he caught back up amidst the throng of people. I look back to my right and see the platform packed with people, yet all the gates and glass doors were shut, meaning they were all trapped within with the two creatures. We did not look back after that point, making up the stairs, warning everyone we saw along the way to turn back because there was an attack. Whole throngs of people were turned back, and people started passing the message back to those coming down, and even when some of the groups I warned couldn't speak English they could certainly sense the urgency and the weight of people all turning back that they knew to follow suit.

With the entrance we used to get in cut off by the platform being locked, we sought to exit via the main entrance/exit. It was a lot more cavernous than I had anticipated, being a memory of Waterloo, and to my surprise I found it completely devoid of people - despite being used to the passage of thousands a day. Approaching the ticket barriers my heart momentarily paused, we three halting at the sight of all the barriers and gates being shut, guarded by armed guards. They were not police, though one unarmed police stood with them. The unarmed (for British police are by standard unarmed, which is why the armed guards stood out so much more so) policewoman shouted with her megaphone, for us to turn back and stay away from the barriers, the whole station was under quarantine and it was for the safety of the whole city that no one exited until they could send in teams to extract all the people trapped.

We turned around and walked back, when the policewoman shouted orders:
"Don't look left." I was beginning to look peripherally to the left. "Don't look right. Don't look forward. Don't turn around. Don't look at anything. Don't look right. Don't look at yourself. Don't be self-absorbed."
Understandably I understood nothing, but I didn't want to disobey the armed mystery brigade. I looked to my left and saw a quiet little passageway with stairs leading upwards, with green laser lines indicating security. I figured going back down the escalator into cramped tunnels full of hundreds of panicked people was a poor idea and suggested we all go down that passageway and wait whatever this was out. We go down the corridor, thankfully out of sight from the confusing policewoman with her unusual tirade of commands, sitting down in a quiet area where we were greeted by a lonely real estate agent. She offered us ales and ciders, her little office was stocked with water, booze and a little complimentary food, and allowed us to share in it. Periodically my friend would approach the hallway exit to observe the empty station. No one came up the escalator, even though it still worked fine, and the station remained mostly empty. We did find some wandering individuals bringing our number up to 7 though.

We shared stories until the real estate agent grew sick, and as she vomited my sister vomited and the whole sight made me slightly sick too. It was then that all 7 of us concurred that they had been feeling the same symptoms since this day, and we conclude that there is some serious disease being carried by all of us, and vomiting is likely not going to be the last symptom it exhibits - the quarantine wouldn't be so severe otherwise. I begin wiping up some of the spilt sick, trying to keep the area as nice as possible, when a new person comes in. It was 'Ben', and they had found our hallway on their own. They also seemed a bit different, a bit more... Bloody.
Understandably no one  wanted to touch him, but he approached me and asked me if he remembered him. I thought that it was a curious question, thinking that he meant to ask if I remembered him. I told him of course I remembered him, he was Ben.
"It's me, Self-BEN." He attacked me and with my left arm holding his right, my right holding his left, I desperately tried to keep him off me as he tried headbutting, scratching or biting me into an otherwise less healthy state of body.

Someone tries passing me a hammer. Self-Ben takes the hammer from them. I curse at their stupidity and wrestle the hammer from Self-Ben and begin attacking him with it, using my non-dominant hand whilst trying to keep both his hands occupied, the whole thing is clumsy and results in bits of skull getting bashed in. Self-Ben does not seem to mind this state of affairs, and was likely to kill me out of exhaustion until my friend buried a fire-axe into his head. Self-Ben fell to the floor, and insanely got back up, beginning to hobble towards the hallway exit. Considering at this point half his head was sheared off it was impossible and inhuman for him to still be going. He turns around and sees me, his eyes having no hint of pain or realization of what has happened to his head, and begins shuffling towards me, arms outstretched. At which point I hammer his exposed brain and he falls down for good. At this point everyone's thoroughly disturbed, and we begin cleaning ourselves (to the best of our abilities). One of our group realizes some of the blood is his own, as he has begun bleeding from beneath his finger nails. We realize this is the second phase of the disease.

At this point we barricade the hallway and begin postulating what it is we're infected with. I posit that it's possible this disease affects the mind in a rather unusual way. The police warning, the address as Self-Ben, the creatures that made no sense - it didn't seem to be an ordinary illness from any ordinary source. Self-Ben had somehow been able to find all of us, and tracked me down because we had some pre-existing connection. I then said if this is true, then it doesn't bode well for us, as we'd all introduced ourselves to one another and spent the past few hours telling each other our tales of life. We were acquaintances if not friends in crisis, at which point the friend with the bleeding finger nails suggested we all lock ourselves in individual rooms in order to ensure we don't hurt each other. We all agreed it may come to that, but until we knew exactly what the disease did, we wouldn't be so hasty to divide ourselves. Thus one of us went up to the balcony to see if we could ask the policewoman what she knew of the disease, one of us went to explore each balcony and find the keys to each store (in case we did have to lock ourselves up) whilst the rest of us continued shoring up the barricade. We figured it would be safe to stop when we were confident the barricade would hold against what could potentially be hundreds of people, and certainly against those two creatures.

[Person]

You don't need to read this, mostly just a note to myself to promise to write my next dream here no matter what it is. That apparently works sometimes. If you really want to reply to this it'll probably be best to pm.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Awhile back I told myself I'd start regularly writing my dreams down, so that I could remember them. I figured it'd be neat. It worked, but not too well. I've only been able to recall properly two of them since then. Pretty much every other dream has happened when I forgot to leave some writing stuff next to my bed because my brain hates me I guess. As a result, they usually leave my mind before I can finish writing them.

So anyway. My dreams are rapidly becoming increasingly bizarre and unsettling, and not in a good way. We're talking pretty screwed up stuff. My dreams have always been out there/terrifying in their own way, but thingd might actually be getting into genuinely bad psychological territory. For a large part of my life almost every dream I had ended horribly, but that never bothered me like my recent dreams have. Essentially, things have grown beyond what I can tolerate.

In a lot of cases my body has been behaving as if dream happenings were real. Phantom heat/pain/touch/etc. In particular, I've woken up a couple times with some pretty serious severe lasting pains(upwards of 30 minutes in at least one case) when I get up from some of the especially bad dreams(the horrible death ones, for instance).

When it comes down to it, I'm not sure I want to remember my dreams anymore, which seems a rather bleak outlook on life. Despite all of this, I've resolved to post my next dream no matter what. Hopefully I'll be able to find some answers for myself. This is probably a terrible idea, but fuck it.

[Rose]

There was a group of people that lost their normal vision, with it being replaced instead with being able to see the history and bear future of any object, but only the shape and position, no color or light, and they're fighting off an invasion of alien creatures that see the same way.

The dream followed the story of a kid who got that kind of vision, as he got accepted into a group of people with the same abilities, where he joined the fight with them, and journeyed across the country, keeping this wooden knife with him, both out of sentimentality, but also because when looking at it, he could see how far its come.

The power had limits, it could only see a minute or so in the future, and I'm not sure how long into the past, but it peeked like a year maybe.

At one point in the dream, somebody converted a washing machine to use mechanical switches and dials for the protagonist, rather than buttons and a computer chip, because that was the only way he could see and use it, because any lights or display just looked blank to him.

There was also something about not being able to see embossed text, but still being able to see printed text, because the ink has a different history from the paper.

Another part of the dream had the group going through an abandoned grocery store, and being impressed how far a bag of saffron had come, as well as how damn expensive it was.

The dream had a very post apocalyptic feel to it, with lots of broken buildings from the invasion, etc.

I don't remember all that much else that makes sense.

[FallacyofUrist]

Yugioh against... Endbringers?

Also dietary issues I don't have in real life.

[Loud Whispers]

So I dreamt of a large and broken factory, whose windows were smashed in and whose vast size sat alone on a lonely riverbank on the far eastern fringe of London, a relic of an industrial age long gone. I walked up to it and entered within, the interior being this vast hall of mosaic walls and empty rows of work benches, and sitting in one corner was me. A much younger version of me, one in childhood, emaciated and fragile looking, wracked with coughs in the cold.
I sat beside myself in the corner and passed my youngest self a hot drink, and together we ate slices of bread dipped in the steaming brew, a warming time all round.

I awoke wondering what the significance of all that was, and was in my adolescence, panicking over some poetry assignments left undelivered and uncompleted. I searched frantically through my bag and found that all of my papers were gone, what was there instead were yellow backed books, the kind that I gave out to pupils to use as teacher. I then realized that the time was all wrong and I had not woken up, I was still dreaming. I read through the books at what was written in them, they all seemed familiar but the handwriting was such that I had difficulty reading them, though I was helped by one dream apparition that took the form of my past's favourite teacher. I struggle to remember the contents, but I do remember the emotional reaction to each piece, principle of them being joy, pity and concern. At last I found the poem I needed, and I said I needed more time to complete it. I looked at the clock though and realized my time here was up, and hurriedly wrote down the last two lines of the poem, handing it in and running down a corridor before I awoke.

[Starver]

Me, this morning... (And many mornings. And a few too many other times of day, too.)

I thought I could get it back, but no.

[Tomasque]

Me, this morning... (And many mornings. And a few too many other times of day, too.)

I thought I could get it back, but no.

I know it. Happens way too often to me, too.

[Rolan7]

Same, unless I write it down in a txt file or share with a friend almost immediately.  That seems to reinforce the memory.  Hooray for technology - we can bother a distant friend with a dream just as we wake up.  And (between time zones and modern work schedules) they're likely long awake.

I had a nap a couple days ago where I was stuck in the boonies with some kind relatives.  They needed money for gas, and wouldn't take any from me, so we had to go hiking.  Beside fields which were probably tobacco, though I may be filling that in.  [disconnect] we found our way to the cock-fight at the speedway.  No, seriously.

You best not talk bad about my relatives, and in truth they aren't so bad, but my subsconscious sure stereotypes them.  Almost entirely unfairly.
(Context:  I'm moving back to my family, because they need my help, and it's complicated)

[Rose]

That's why I wrote my dream in here as soon as I got up

[Starver]

(This won't be as good as it could be. But as I have just awoken)

Not the first thing that happened, but the first bit remembered well enough, some natives of the Sahara, Nagreb or whatavyer are trading with WWI (or possibly WWII) British forces, at a waterfall on a river betwixt their barren plains and the Yorkshire Moors (zooming back a bit, there were two paths to the waterfall, one for each of a pair of English brothers, the first brother (who was me) didn't make it due to betrayal, but the second (who was also me) did, or was going to, but then I started being part of the Bedouin caravan/whatever).

I am impressed that the waterfall has been covered up with sheets to protect it during filming (because this is not real, just being dramatised?) except that beneath the white sheeting there's also a heavy steel safe door (big twirly wheel!) protecting a bit of the rock specifically from the enemy.  I observe all this as I wander round as a young warrior of the tribe, and then again as one of the young women of the tribe wanting to be a warrior.

*zoom zoom zoom zoom zoom* Scene change with no known connection.

Visiting "my old school" (it isn't), describable as a plate-glass school because the (empty) trophy cabinet is fronted with a plate glass door (unlike what that means in real life!). Some..  business...  No idea why. Seems I'm wearing my school uniform, but not for that school (which has none, and neither did the RL equivalent after which it is otherwise entirely not based), instead for the former. For... reasons.

But now not a school, no longer at the school? It's a Youth Hostel, handy for my actual destination, some kind of convention. (I know a number of the people here, some of them know me! ...likely based upon RL convention-goers to a RL convention I regularly attend), but the plan seems to be not to use the accomadation as anything but a staging post, as I'm straight off to the venue, and expect not to be sleeping at the YH for at least the first two nights.

Convention centre. Busy, exterior public area. Corridor, like a shopping mall. Someone has set up a miniature magma flow. White. Which ia cold enough to sort-of-surf on, I discover, using a flat piece of card. He (maker of the flow) is relieved. Wasn't sure it wasn't going to be hot.

Very busy entrance to the private area of the convention. Huge queue of people who just get through the checking in before I get there, to scout about the place (no intention of entering yet, I apparently have other business) and get asked for my tickets. Fumble in the pocket, and the tickets that matter are the small tear-off tokens which are there to exchange for the VIPish tickets to the ?Monster Truck Rally? later that day (in fact 22:00 for 22:30, and it is currently morning, although it was afternoon/early evening just before that). Was not going to go inside, yet, but do so.

Massive arena, many fans. One convention-goer who recognises me (and is important, I know/sense, perhaps a VIP-proper) beckons for me to follow. Guided to a lift door that she goes through, without inviting me, then takes to go elsewhere, leaving me wondering if I should take that elevator myself, or is it just that I'm now in the right vicinity, and this was her sole intentention?  Some people I know to say hello to (doubts they recognise me, standard waking state of affairs) and a refreshment area, just behind the seating. Only selling fruit? I'm looking for drinks, but there are none.

Lay down to sleep (in the area behind the seating) wake up to find that I'm in the seating (nearly front row? small gap in seata in front of me, if I'm amrow or three behind that, nominally) laid across three seats, snoozing, in an otherwise packed auditorium. People think I'm reserving seats, I think, and are happy.

Opening ceremony seems to be trying to depict the happenings at prior Conventions (the time we all heard about Brexit?  Booo!  Etc.) and copious use of umbrellas by the centre mob, either when indicating the time when it rained on a previous convention or because it is currently raining on this opening ceremony. I move to the centre, but not sure of the performance script, or if people without performance scripts (i.e. me) should be playing a part.

Some undefined movement (find the refreshment area again, or rather its mirror image, presumably on the opposite side of the arena, still no drinks!) and the person who I was is now sitting in the centre's barber room, in a barber chair, having just been partially shaved. This included part of my/his tight fitting dark cardigan being shaved away from the neck down to the chest (graded, though) when mistaken for chest hair, making for an interesting contrast with the (even tighter) cream-coloured tighter-fitting cardigan that is the next layer down.

*transition I don't understand, but still same locale*

Two brothers or sporting rivals. There to provide demonstrations to the convention. One, definitely, is a formula <something, maybe One> racing driver. Sibling rivalry is first brother's 'thing', but then he's usually the best. (I gravitate to being the younger brother, less acomplished, not even bothered about the rivalry, except for hoping to best his brother just once to try to put an end to this).

Either as the younger brother or as original/new spectator, witness a 'race' around the arena. Possibly an F1 car in the centre lane. In the middle lane, a horse (and jockey) tied to a pole (c.f. a waltzer/galloper), the pole moving round at least as fast as the car. Oh, and tilted vertically outwards (some time later, in an internal dream conversation between two of my avatars, we rationalise that the centripetal force on the horse would have broken its legs if done with the 'right' lean inwards, so by effectively reversing it the weight isn't on the legs - satisfies my avatars, not sure it satisfies here-and-now me).  Third/outermost track was something different, and contrasting yet, but forgotten.

Back to the brothers, however.  Young one gets convinced by older to take up, the challenge of racing the Detachable Dog, which seems to be their name for a wheeled dog-sled-type-thing, currently packed up on the edge of the arena. Dream enters phase of definitely being the younger brother, trying to organise the circuit being run on the DD device, including getting the true owners to help.  Suggestions on how to deal with a small staircase ghat forms part of the arena circuit are gratefully received, the owners seem to have a much better idea than 'I' have.

As part of the preparations, some form of costume needed. Baking a loaf on my head is one part ofbit, it seems. (Flashback sequence: mother and daughter bakers demonstrating how to do this, despite being the middle of the night. Somehow. Somehow for everything in this scene.) Later on, decides that a pie is a better headpiece, the loaf is moved (somehow) to become superhero-style over-underpants. Discussions about this with my assistant (who, it appears, I have).

At one point, the wide, circular arena becomes a more tight-fitting circular courtroom (I may have wandered through a door into an ancillary ante-chamber) in which various lordish personages were handling permissions and petitions by my brother, not entirely to his own way. They seem to like me.

Also, possibly revealed here, is the case of a lady of my acquaintance who may or may not have been declared dead, at some point, but quite clearly isn't. Now at least. Something VIPish about her (but not the same gal who, elevatored away).

The assistant (definitely around now) either knows a secret or is being guided to one himself. Running down a long and steep and winding (S-bendy) staircase of a simultaneously outdoor and enclosed/subterranean nature, we find a locked room/area. Steel grating door, padlock, within which is a graveyard. Initially.

Has something to do with the not-dead lady having faked her death, but ?her brother? having accidentally let slip thatbshe was alive such that she had to spin it as an administrative error that she had to battle against.  The reason for her initial deception was that she could not deal with the number of electronic devices she was supporting for people. And niw this graveyard isn't a graveyard, but a storeroom full of printers (...in the centre; answerphones and such on the shelves around the edges), defunct kit that the lady (being dead) could not support, and forgotten about before she 'resurrected'.

One old man (a general an heretofore unannounced person visiting this tech graveyard, but not realising that the lady now present was the cause of this dumping, and should have been held to account) mentions his printer, we take his key-fob and turn his printer on, remotely, to locate it. (In facts we learn just moments before the Sherlockian deductive action, it was(/is) a fancy model powered by an external battery pack and equipped with a fancy remote-control key-fob. Both printer and fob battery power remains undissipated since the time of 'internment'.   Go, figure.)


Dream ends.  And much missed out, above.  There were definitely some bits with buses and trains, for example.

[Baffler]

Dreamed I was being taken on a tour of a factory. I was to work as an engineer maintaining the tooling on the facility's dozens of massive lathes, jigs, and boring machines, but the tour took me through the whole of the plant. It was never clear to me what exactly was produced there, but whatever it was ended up die cast from molten steel (made from iron ore in house from the looks of it) before being processed through my machines, then taken off to a separate warehouse and assembly area I wasn't permitted to see. The tour ended at my station, a machine shop set up in a building near the center with offices on its second floor. There was space for a third before hitting the roof of the plant proper, and catwalks extended from the office all around the place. None of this except for the in house ironworks and secret assembly area is particularly unusual, and the floor plan and machinery bore a strong resemblance to the engine plant I used to work at.

After the tour was over, the person giving it grabbed a bucket full of soapy water and a kitchen sponge from somewhere, and told me to go and clean the ceiling above the diesel burners, which it turned out were basically a bunch of giant bunsen burners tucked into a corner. They told me they were 'decorative.' I saw nothing wrong with this. After some arguing to convince the DH there (the only employee in that section) to let me lockout-tagout the burners directly below me I set to scrubbing while standing on an enormous ladder that had been propped up in the corner for, he told me, exactly this situation. I had spent almost half of my shift doing that (and made no progress) when the person who'd given the tour came up absolutely fuming. She yelled at me for being such a fucking retard and wasting time washing the ceiling instead of doing my job, and for turning off one of the useless diesel burners. I told her that she herself had told me to scrub the ceiling, and that the stains were stubborn but I was making good progress at it. That made her so angry that she started kicking my ladder. It fell down sideways, taking me with it, but I was able to jump clear and scrabble onto one of the catwalks. I decided this was a terrible place to work and started running as quickly as I could down the catwalk for the emergency exit, but looking down I saw that the contents of my wash bucket were somehow still spilling out, and the factory floor was now covered in an inch of water and rising. The workers were unconcerned, and after shutting down their machines started trying to make the forklifts slide and do donuts, or skip the finished parts off the surface of the water. The floor manager told them to stop but they ignored her. I got to the fire exit and shoved it open, but I couldn't see anything outside because of a blinding light. I stepped through anyway and found that I'd woken up, and that the sun was in my eyes.

[Frumple]

My kingdom to be able to draw worth a damn right about now. Finished off one that ended looking over like a Pen and Paper or Larp or Supposed to Actually be Real multipage -- like, ten, twelve, maybe more -- magazine article type thing detailing the setup of a tournament/renaissance fair sorta' event themed and illustrated dead on based on the old Disney animated robin hood thing. The one with the rooster, which should be more than enough identification for anyone that saw it.

Art was basically perfect greyscale of the characters involved, had events, little side story type things, just your standard real-damn-good article type whatsit, each pair of pages with one or two scenes with said characters acting out whatever it was talking about.

Was just damned amazing. I was actually dreaming about something else -- already forgot what -- when the PoV was scanning over the related pages of whatever sort of print media the thing was and noticed the picture on the other page was one of the rhino guards resting its head on top of what small fair tent thingjigger. Immediately derailed and spent what was left of the dream looking back and forth over the stuff related to it.

[Rose]

I was flying somewhere with my in-laws, but I was the only one without a printed ticket, so I didn't know our flight number or when we were boarding.

I had to notice that everybody else had gone, frantically call my wife, find the plane, and jump in seconds before they close the door.

It turned out to be a tiny and cramped guppy shaped 3 floor propeller plane, and we were all sitting on the floor in a room on the front of the middle level, with a giant forward facing window.

In flight entertainment was provided by a second plane flying in front of us trailing a giant flat-screen TV behind it.

The front plane, which I have to assume was the same model as ours, seemed to be empty of passengers, had some windows missing (open holes) and the top level had these giant sweeping panoramic windows that curved up onto the roof.

It was showing something about Rajasthan on the TV. Lots of elephants.

[penguinofhonor]

I dreamed about my community garden plot, which I've spent a ton of time and energy in this summer getting it into usable shape. In the dream, I went to the garden and discovered that the plots had been randomly reassigned, giving someone else ownership of all my plants and setting me back to square one with maintenance and weeding. It was a very stressful dream.

[Starver]

...how it started, I don't know, but it ended with out little family group in a car-park at the head of a trail.  Waiting.  It seems we wanted to go along the trail, but events were happening that, while not directly threatening, made a distinct aura of brewing danger should we go down the trail.

And there were flashes in the sky. Sheet lightning, but no thunder.

(Aside: a previous bit of recollection is a "three steps backward, two steps forward" attempt to get to this place, along canal towpath and rail-side paths. I don't know how we even made progress.)

And a windsock. Specifically one "inactived" by being hung sheathing the pole (so that it indicates absolutely nothing about the wind), but ready to be deployed normally on demand.


Despite(/because of?) impending doom, we do eventually go down the trail, though.  Which is more like a road.  I observe that lorries going in the reverse direction are empty. Meaningful! Goods are going in one direction (ours), and this is a 'clue'.

Then I see an identical lorry going in our direction, also empty. Typical!

(I have as little idea where the dream was leading as where the dream-trail was leading. And vice-versa.  But some strange themes, some quite a bit off my 'usual', even if I recognise others.  Closest to a nightmare that I've had for some time, but very low intensity for all that, without scare to it, just foreboding.)