It is another dark progression through a shopping center as a gothic maze. It shouldn't be this difficult.
I cannot find my way. I've left Scoobie in the auto with another unidentified canine, and urgency builds as time goes on. I really should be back there by now.
But I cannot ask for directions. Even if it's obvious I'm lost, I continue in my own way, climbing over counters and stepping out rear windows. If I proceed deliberately, they will think I have a plan.
A woman in a passing aisle says to a companion, "Oh, but you can't trust what the children say," and I butt in: "- which is why we attend to them so closely." She smiled as if she understood me. I didn't.
In dreams, I never arrive wherever I'm going. Maybe these obstacles are like my bathroom urgency in dreams; I wake up before I wet the bed. Mostly.
"Hearing the raven cough
in winter sticks"