At a strange mall, I was pursued by a group intent on killing me. I found a door, opened it, and entered a space just big enough to hold me. It had no lock, which I hoped my pursuers wouldn’t notice. I tried to hold it closed by the handle, although it kept changing and even disappearing. I didn’t know how long they would look for me and wondered if they were lurking, waiting for me to open the door. Something about the room made me feel safe.
At the mall (or was it a film festival?), I took a photo of Leonard Nimoy with my iPhone. Somehow I got word to him, and he searched until he found me. All he wanted was the photo. By then, I couldn’t find it on the iPhone. What should have been app icons had become the blank edges of CDs, so I had no clue as to what was on them. He had cornered me near a creepy house and frightened me without saying a word. Finally he left, with a sad yet menacing expression.
Finally I found the photo, and he reappeared instantly—perhaps I or my mind called out. As he walked off with it (somehow, as it was a file), he turned and blew me the lightest of kisses.