Recalling this dream, I believe the Dragon appeared on the Northern Line, a line well-travelled in the years spent in the Capital. Something deep, buried and ancient stirred up by the Sandman…
I am travelling on an old rail cart, deep below sea level, on an London Underground tube line, when it stops dead on the tracks…
Everything is dark, except for purple traces, and a swooshing sound echoing down the line. I understand there is a mythical beast of a Dragon wandering the tube network…
My girlfriend is sleeping on the cart. I try to wake her, but she is like stone. I pick up a rock and throw it into the dark, towards the Dragon, as a pack of wild dogs run past, stopping briefly for a quick smell…
Feeling braver now, I walk into the darkness. There is no Dragon, only a tube barrier, which I glide through…
On the other side of the barrier, I watch a sea of sleepy clubbers drift from the blue glow of the dancefloor, down a flight of stairs in my direction…
As they pass, one-by-one, tickets in hand, I detect an ocean wave of dirty misadventures, of a monged-out atmosphere to their voyages in clubland…
The dream ends.