Dancehall

I dreamt that Sweetie and I were in this vast deserted hall with wood parquet flooring. The white-washed facade of the exterior had reminded me of the National Museum. I talked to a watchman in my dream, giving him a box of old cassettes.

I had thought in my dream that the hall would have made a great dancehall, an esoteric locale away from the city where people would visit to dance at midnight.

I was then awakened by the loud construction across the road from my home.