I was taking a trip around the world in a motorboat with John Steinbeck. The boat was made from unpainted orange wood, and had an outboard motor. We set off from Salinas at lunchtime and got to Venice before tea. We walked through an allotment on a hillside outside the city. We found a manhole cover. John knocked it out of place with his foot. We climbed down to the restaurant below. The floor plan was an irregular trapezium with two right angles. The longest side was a long row of supermarket checkouts. There were three people that I know operating tills there. I know seven people who work in supermarkets. There was no overlap between these groups.
I was at a shopping mall where a cold desert ran into the sea. I was stranded, and got a lift home from a family I did not know. We were driving along an empty road. I wondered what would happen if we were to hit a motorcyclist. Then we hit a motorcyclist. For a moment all was still. Then I got out of the car and walked to the biker. I said “Dude, are you alright?” She said “Not so good.”. In the hospital room, there were two large boxes, each one a metre or so deep and wide. The one on the right was black and 2 metres high. The one on the left was grey and about 1.20 metres high. I pointed to the one on the left and said “What's this?”. My sister said “It's a fully functioning washroom.” “But it's so small!” I said. “Don't ask me, ask the Feds.” she said, pointing at the door. Two men in dark suits stood there.