I dreamt that I was in a vast, empty parking lot together with Yoko Ono. We seemed to be great friends. Her black hair cropped short, she was in her mid-thirties. She wore a tight black T-shirt with short sleeves and a pair of tight black pants. A man on a bicycle was approaching us from quite some distance. He was riding very slowly. Both he and his bike were caked with mud and dust. “Wait until you see him,” Yoko grinned at me knowingly and motioned her head toward the fellow. I woke up long before he came close to us, though. “Oh,” I remember thinking as I was waking up, “more of Yoko’s nonsense.” Of course, she came to me in my dream because I had bumped into several articles about her lately. She has a retrospective of sorts in London, where she is also conducting one of her art projects, which involves people sending her their photographs with their smiling faces. Whence my last thought, no doubt. All in all, a dream to forget.