I dreamt that I was at a picnic of sorts with a bunch of friends. The weather was great. We were sitting under a big tree. All kinds of food were strewn on top of a flat rock in front of us. Among the delicacies I spotted a dead bird. It was small and gray. Partly to entertain my friends, and partly out of curiosity, I wrapped the limp bird into a piece of bread and started eating it. First I bit off its head and beak, which I spat out. Then I took a large bite that went through the middle of its chest. All I could feel in my mouth was gristle. It was bland, but some of what I was chewing was slightly sour. When I looked at the reminder of my “sandwich,” I saw a bundle of tiny bones and gristle swimming in a creamy substance that looked like yogurt. In it, there swam tiny orange specks, which looked like something that the bird had eaten just before dying. I remember squeezing my hand a bit, which made the bones fan out. Feeling disgusted at long last, I chucked the sandwich away. To the best of my recollection, no-one among my friends was entertained by the spectacle the least bit.