My dreams borrow from my waking life. I’d looked at an image of Keir Starmer on his iPad that afternoon, and the same picture became animated during sleep. He was reading from an iPad as he parked his car. It irritated me that he could be so careless. Then he got out of the car and said, his hand stroking the back of his neck: “It’s so hot.” And that was it.
He called me after I’d texted him. He sounded more like his usual self. He was driving he said. (Perhaps it was the imagining of this event that fed my dream.) There is still a long way to go, but he seemed sangine about it.
