Kwininj

I am on a small roll-on-roll-off ferry boat. I am talking, with a somewhat forlorn sensation, to a tall women. I can recall nothing else about her aside from the sad, yearning quality I have towards this ill-defined individual. I mention something about “Manhattan” (is that where we are?) but I realise I am being deceived/confused by the upward jutting shapes of the length of the ferry, cast as it is in shadow by the gleaming bright water beyond. I leave the woman on the 'off' ramp– she just stands there, a strong figure, her hand perched on her hip – and again I experience this intense sadness at our separation, and my longing, welling up inside of me-

I am now with a much older man (he looks familiar-ish, like an actor I cannot place). He has long-ish white hair swept back from his face, which is by turns warm and friendly yet stern. Visibly distressed he asks me to dial '999'. His breathing is irregular and shallow so I do so (despite my sudden concerns that he is a gangster of sorts). It proves to be a very frustrating (and just a little tense) exchange as the older man, listening in, keeps asking me to correct my version of events (so as to avoid the topic of himself and thereby arousing any suspicion). He constantly butts in and when not pressing me he gurns and tuts at my clumsy handling of the call-