There are some nights when a ferocious threat of danger stalks the neural tunnel pathways of the mind, and a primal predator roaming the savannah bares its white incisors for the Sandman’s camera…
I am on Safari. Travelling across some ancient, scorched park wilderness with a small crowd of Animal-Obsessed strangers and Hunters, who are turning round in 360-degree circles filming with their gargantuan phones…
Hunters gathered around me are plucking small crocodiles from small pools of murky water, with little regard for the snapping primeval jaws…
The Hunters are busy clamping their mouths together, wrestling them for sport, and there is talk of making handbags and shoes from the tough gnarled skin…
Standing on a small Ayres Rock boulder is a cold expressionless man in a royal purple Safari hat. He is casually petting a giant Sabre-toothed tiger, inciting fun and laughs from the gathering crowds…
I stand frozen in the tracks of my dream, glued to the scorched earth underfoot…
I concentrate my vision and stare into the killer black pupils of the Sabre-toothed tiger…
I am filled with a primal fear…
In the middle of the savannah plain, there appears a giant Mall-like escalator, running downwards, bringing new Safari day trippers into the park…
The dream ends.