Once again, I dreamt that I was stuck at an international airport. I was supposed to be in Atlanta, but I know the airport there rather well, and it does not look at all like the one in my dream. This one was colossal. Made of precast concrete, it consisted of long corridors and circular hubs, from each of which came more corridors. But the corridors were at least three football pitches across, and the hubs were much wider. Every once in a while, small yellow airplanes would buzz overhead, presumably taking late passengers to their planes. The planes looked puny inside the airport. But the place was utterly confusing. There was no signage anywhere. There were no markings on the corridor and hub floors, either. What was worst, there were no openings anywhere. Everything was uniformly gray. People milled around at a pace that suggested that they had no idea where they were going. Totally lost myself, I went hither and thither in search of my plane. I was not even sure where I was flying from Atlanta, but I simply had to find my plane. At some point I found some well-lit stairs going down from one of the corridors, and this opening somehow struck me as a plausible way to my plane. A petite Asian woman followed me down the stairs, which soon turned into a slippery shoot. I slid down on my heels and landed in a vast basement covered with a thin layer of mud. Soon afterwards, the Asian woman landed a few paces away from me. The ceiling was high and the place was well lit. At a distance, there was a curled body of an enormous snake. It appeared that it was decomposing in the mud. Realizing that it would be quite a feat climbing back up the shoot, I woke up. Relieved, I wondered about my dreams of airports. They are getting ever more abstract. And the airports look more and more like hell.