Note to self: Stop dreaming about banquet halls. They’re boring.
I was in a large banquet hall, but it was neither full nor noisy. My chair was at the front, on the floor, facing the audience, so I did not think I was quite an honored guest. I didn’t know who I was, why I was there, or what my role was to be.
I left to look for the bathroom, which had colored terrycloth towels. When I came out, a white towel was draped over my arm, like a waiter’s napkin. Somehow, this was supposed to be part of some comedic business, almost as though my playing a waiter would be funny in itself, given who I was. Although the room wasn’t empty, I don’t think I saw or heard anyone. The sensation was eerie.
There was more, but I may have blocked it.