I dreamt that I was in quite a rush in a large and crowded city. It looked like New York or Chicago. I knew my way pretty well. Having walked out of a subway station, I headed down a broad avenue. I was rushing to a meeting, if I remember correctly. Seeing a clutch of fashionably dressed young women on the pavement ahead of me, I attempted to walk around them, but they squeezed toward me and blocked my way. One of them stepped right in front of me. She had dark skin and South Indian or Sri Lankan features. About twenty, she wore shorts, tall boots, and a leather jacket. Her lips were bright red with lipstick. “Move away,” I yelled at her. I was ready to push her out of my way if needed. She giggled coquettishly, but she let me walk past her. “I know everything about you,” she yelled after me as I walked faster and faster. “You have a lover in Hong Kong,” she giggled, “and you visited her twice in secret!” I just kept walking. “Lover,” I remember thinking angrily, “what lover?” When I woke up in the middle of the night, I racked my brains for a while before I remembered Hilary. Although her name escaped me at first, we did meet in secret a couple of times in the mid-Nineties. Although nothing ever came of it, perhaps luckily, a lover of sorts she surely was at the time. “But how did the bitch in my dream get to know about Hilary?” I wondered. “Ah,” it dawned on me at last, “that bitch was me!” I managed to fall asleep again soon enough.