Night of 3rd October 2010

My father has lent me his Porsche 964 RS. It's mine for the time being, and Nana is in it with me. We hit a stretch of motorway and I let it out—I revel, briefly, in the speed and power of the car; but I lose control at the first turn: a long right hand curve. The steering is too heavy, the speed too much, and I can't track the curve. We go into the left hand hand verge and barrier, scraping the car and hitting rough uncontrollable terrain. I'm not, however, panicked.

The car grinds to a halt, it's written off.

We exit. There's no starting the car again (and getting it back), so I have to leave it thereabouts. I try to push it to a nearby space in a backstreet (we are suddenly near an urban area: Tokyo).

Sometime later, I have to return the car—but must fix everything up so as to appear nothing had happened. I'm searching for someone I know who can fix this up for me. As we're in Tokyo, I hit upon an old acquaintance, a guy, about my age, called "Gema" (real name Kawashima) who began running his own clothing store in waking life back in Tokyo. He was also an ex-roommate of one of my old roommates: Araki.

I find them nearby and ask if they can fix the Porsche up. They say they can, and at the time I'm assured that this will do (though, in waking life, they never really struck me as professional, or right men for the job). I now have to retrieve the car so they can repair it.

I can't find it.

I vaguely remember where I left it—but not really. The dream becomes a quest to remember where I left the car.

I'm searching the area; I'm always close, but never quite the right place.

I'm back in the house I grew up in, I know the car was on the left hand side, and am looking for it on this side of the house, only to recall I can go no further left of the hall than one room, the dining room—and the car is certainly not in there. I realize it can't be here.

I'm next in an apartment, perhaps mine (but not one from waking life), and my older sister, Nina, turns up with her children. The children are wearing boots and are asking me questions, as is Nina, but I hide the truth of my blunder with Dad's car from them. I must go and find it. Time is tight.

I trace back my steps mentally, and recall where the car might have been left. I'm distressed now as it has been quite a time since I left it, and it's sure to have been stolen, tampered with, or vandalized. I've been blase about the whole incident, and the gravity begins to weigh on me.

I'm trying to make my way back, and find myself at a raised patio with several entrances (leading down). These entrances are not public, and not being a member of the private buildings they service, I'm stuck as to how I'll get where I need to go.

I have to risk it and break the law.

I choose one entrance and make my way in (probably behind someone else who had business going in there). I'm in, but want to get out the lower exit I'm searching for as soon as possible—to avoid detection and capture.

I'm down on a lower level, sea or lake level; I'm close to getting out. I see a kind of dock or harbour, or man-made coast behind the long glass walls and am moving along the long length of the bay trying to find the way out. The raised ground I came from is sensed above me to the right, I think there's a mountain, trees, etc. Not a European scene, but a Japanese one.

Some guards have noticed me. They give chase and I'm captured. I'm questioned thoroughly, and spill the Porsche story. I don't think they believe me; and yet somehow I'm out the other side.

I've remembered the location of the car—recalling the motorway was the key; I was searching the urban backstreets, to no avail. I go and get it. It's still broken, but I have it.

I wake

Night of 1st October 2010

The restaurant/cafe's in a concrete and brick complex of buildings. It's outside, the weather might be good. It feels like an LA cafe. There's a sense of space, openness (like you get in the US).

I'm scaling along the outside of some walls, standing on pipes and brick ledges. The pipes are not drainpipe thin, but more like industrial piping—quite wide, and strong: easy to stand on. My dinner partners are looking on, I'm trying to impress them with my daring route/skill.

I negotiate the last bits of pipe and ledge, drop down by our table - a square table, there are three other guests - and expect some applause or adulation. The others are not as impressed as I thought they'd be. Granted I wasn't that high up - perhaps a little higher than my height - but I tell them that I was just demonstrating; usually I'm much higher up. They remain unimpressed.

I wake.