I’m not certain I want to know what this one means.
It was a strange and disjointed one. What I remember is walking through a city, then being in the dark, industrial-looking basement of a hotel with a couple friends. We wanted to go to the top floor, and I took the first elevator, while they decided to wait for the express elevator.
Since I was not on the express, my elevator car quickly got very crowded. A very short man who looked something like Pharrell Williams batted his eyes at me and tried to convince me that my t-shirt and jeans were actually women’s clothes, so I must therefore be a woman who was open to his advances. As if.
When I got off the elevator, it opened up on a large park. Hula music was coming from some unseen source, and a group of nuns were performing a hula dance. Nearby, a bunch of tourists in Hawaiian shirts were doing something like a Maori haka in time with the music. I moved over to some ruins, where I told a young boy clambering over them that he was about to step on some snakes, which had frilly growths on their heads that put me in mind of the seahorse that evolved to blend in with seaweed.
After that, I somehow acquired a ukulele, and tried to lead another group of tourists in performing Donovan’s song, “Happiness Runs,” as a round.
Then the alarm went off.