I am afraid. I am on my back and someone is investigating. It's Lennin. Yes, Vladimir. He is adeptly slashing my pockets one by one. I have on a voluminous frock overcoat, and he is methodically slicing to see if I have anything hidden. I don't know whether I do, but I know it's curtains for me, for suspicion is sufficient in this camp.
Strangely, the above isn't the image of the Lennin of my nightmare. It's as if he's played by someone else, so it's a movie within a dream, which probably explains why I'm not terrified. The Lennin of my dream looks like the sniper and subway hijacker from French Connection.
Wonder what it means to have Lennin looking for contraband in your clothing.