I am walking along what looks like a stony ledge near water, looking for a place to shower, but then I remember I don’t have a towel. I mention this to someone, then realize I do have a towel on my hair.

Elsewhere, we see a train pass through a surrounding car that is set up like a sitting room and has a fireplace that we can somehow see as though the side were partially open. I tell the other person that the engineer can stop there (like a docking station) for a bit of rest and comfort, but then it occurs to me (in my mind) that the engine would block the tracks, so how does that work? I don’t even wonder how the engineer gets access to this tunnel-like contrivance or any of the dozen other impracticalities.

A train comes along just then, an engine with a couple of cars, going in the other directions. It is jumping the tracks repeatedly, looking just like bucking bronco. The effect is horrifying. I say, “Why doesn’t he slow down?” but the train didn’t seem to be going that fast. I wonder how long it will keep landing perfectly on the tracks as it bucks high off them and continue moving forward. I tell the person with me that I lived with train tracks right behind my home, that they curved around my brother’s ash tree and ran behind the trailer (a recurring theme).

We enter the respite tunnel and find it is quite elegant and comfortable. There is all kinds of fancy furniture for which I don’t have names, although I speculate. I think we contemplate ordering tea and cookies or something but don’t know how it all works, especially since no one else seems to be there, at least that we can see. We sense something.