Night of 24th April 2010

I'm trying to get to the upper level of the building. It's a huge place, comical, like a mall crossed with a fun park. I come to massive hall, or atrium, baroque styled; and I can see an upper landing, a walkway around the perimeter of the second floor, the banisters are held up by wooden posts shaped like bowling pins. It isn't a real image—it appears to me as a computer rendering. Like something you'd see in Mario64.

I begin to scale the stairs, and getting to the second floor landing a huge head, again computer rendered, like a baddy from a video-game, bursts through the floor. He has hands too, and is some sort of obstacle I must get past. The situation isn't scary—quite comical. And I notice the polygonal make-up of his face (c.f., a computer graphic) more than the danger his huge waving hands. The doll-man/jack-in-the-box baddy's whirling hands are destroying the hall we're in, and I make my exit.

I'm with the Scottish guy. I've partnered with him as though we were friends, but I sense that I need him more than he needs me. So I'm being passive, following his lead. We're walking outside the mall/theme-park/fun-park and track two teenage boys walking in front of us. They walk through some doors into another area of an adjoining building. Though they aren't dressed particularly fashionably, there's a sense that they are fashionistas, or in-the-scene at any rate.

We've walked in where they did though they are nowhere to be seen; and in fact all that can be seen is a circular, or fire-escape style, stairwell. It's like a works exit, or maintenance tunnel, leading straight up. The Scottish is going to lead us out this way—it's somehow connected with not paying (we can't afford to be at the park, or the Scottish certainly can't anyway). The Scottish knows these routes and ways to gain entry/exit without paying—and I know this is why I'm with him.

We climb and climb—and come out into blustery open air, at the top of a suspension bridge. It's harrowing. We're so high up; there are no safety measures for us; the wind is extremely strong. To get out we're going to have to scale along the wires of the suspension bridge, with no ropes or anchors to keep us on. We only have our grip.

The Scottish seems reconciled to this inherent danger—that it goes with the territory and makes no comment on the danger. He stoically begins his journey. I join.

The steel cabling of the bridge that we will shimmy along is not steel cable. I can see two ladder like tracks, both narrow, but the right one wider gauge than the left. To move along we have to lie down flat, face down, right hand and right leg on the wider right ladder track, and left hand and left leg on the thinner. A few moments in, and I'm thoroughly scared. I don't want to go on. The wind is buffeting me quite strongly and the bottom (the road, the sea below that) is so very far down I feel the distance sucking me in with every look down. The tracks are supple, and are also buffeted in the wind and I feel as though I could be dislodged at any moment. It's petrifying.

The Scottish has moved on ahead, left me behind. He shimmies slowly, and the bridge is long—so I see that it'd take a matter of days to get across it and out/home/to the other side.

Even though the right track is wider with more purchase, I intuit that if the wind were to blow me hard enough it'd be my right grip that would go the first. Meaning survival would hang on me being able to hang on to the left ladder track with my left (weaker) hand only. I'm scared even more. I wake.