Andrew J. Lederer

via Dreamland transportation, from New York (where, in reality, I was asleep in bed) to London, where I found myself inside a vast, all-night club.

The factory/warehouse space seemed unusually empty for that sort of venue, but I later learned, in the way one "learns" things in dreams, that it was already like 10, 11 in the morning there. (I hadn't taken into account the time difference between the US and the UK.)

Now, as I've mentioned before, I have sleep apnea, with means I periodically snore myself into a kind of asphyxiation throughout the night. And, still dreaming, a part of me began to recognize that my breathing was slowing or had stopped.

But rather than waking up, while feeling increasingly starved for oxygen, I kept myself in that dream, 'cause I saw Downstairs at the King's Head owner Peter Grahame and, well, I wanted to chat.