I dreamt that I was at a crowded international airport together with my parents and two dear friends, Sonja and Milan Brkić. Milan is known to all as Brka. My parents were in their seventies and my friends in their late thirties or early forties. I was leading the pack. When I managed to get through a line going to another part of the airport, which was separated from the rest by revolving doors going one way only, I turned around. My group was not behind me. I got angry at once. “Shit,” I growled to myself and clenched my fists. When I saw my mother and Sonja at last, they were far behind me. Then I found another revolving door going only one way, this time backwards, and joined them. “Where are they?” I growled. “They … they went to see something on the way,” my mother stuttered and pointed backwards. I showed them which way to go and told them to wait for me just beyond the first revolving door. My anger was mounting as I started searching for my father and Brka. The line I had already gone through became longer and longer as I was searching for them. “It will take us an hour to get through this mess,” I growled to myself. For better or worse, I did not find them before I woke up.