travelling home

I was about to catch an aeroplane flying from Sydney to Brisbane, and I wanted to call B to tell her what time I was arriving. I went into a news agent where I intended to buy a magazine for the flight. I felt as though I had too much racing through my mind to concentrate on reading, so I searched for something with lots of images that I could admire. I found a copy of Black and White magazine, but rather than nude photography, it featured photographs from all of the world of various scenes: geography, landscape, architecture, people and more. I had to step across a pond with a wooden step in the middle, through a small crowd, to reach the magazine, and by the time I bent over to pick it up, it had turned into a pair of shoes. I picked up the shoes and looked at them, but couldn't remember why I wanted them for the flight. I decided to leave the shop, stepping back across the pond and through the small crowd. I had to ask an elderly lady if I could get past her, and she turned to her friend and remarked that I sounded just like her when she was younger. I couldn't hear any resemblance between my voice and hers and I walked out of the shop with the memory of her aged body clad in a red skirt, a white blouse, a cardigan and sensible shoes. The dream seemed to skip and I was underground in a subway that connected Fortitude Valley and Brisbane city. Attached to the underground railway were tunnels, staircases, and a labyrinth of shops lining the walls. It was late in the day, almost evening, and I was trying to get home. The shops all looked fascinating and I thought that if I had realised that I could have walked so easily from the Valley to the city, I would make the journey more often. I needed to go through a door that led up the stairs to the street above, but the door was closing. I raced over and the man let me through but only just; the door grazed the sides of head and pushed against my arms, slamming behind me. Once through, I walked up the stairs. The man followed me and made mention of his property in the Hunter Valley. He was much older than me and sported a grey beard. He gave me his card and suggested that I should visit he and his family down there. Back on the street in the dark, I tried to call B on my mobile, but every time I entered the number, I pushed incorrect buttons. Time and time again, I attempted to make the call, but each time, I did something wrong and had to begin again.