So there I am in a dream this morning on a packed bus in Egypt, heading with a group of other tourists to visit the ruins. (In the real world, Irene and I visited Egypt in 2006, but I’m not sure whether my dream self was aware of that.) Only we never make it to the sites, instead ending up in a disappointing museum filled with broken audio-animatronics, cheap plastic replicas of artifacts, and tacky tabletop displays purporting to explain the history of the region which contain flickering lights that don’t always work and have been constructed with all the polish of a grade-school science fair.

No one else even bothers to look at these exhibits, instead scurrying straight through to the cafeteria at the far end of the building, but I pause at every one, reading plaques and pushing buttons, all the while wondering why we didn’t head to Abu Simbel or Luxor … or anywhere else but here.

By the time I finish my dutiful examination and catch up with the rest of the group, they’re seated in the cafeteria, having finished eating, and surrounded by the detritus of their meals. Most of them have pulled their chairs in a ring around Cory Doctorow, who I hadn’t even realized was traveling with us.

When I look at what’s available to eat, all I can see are candy bars, but these aren’t the standard U.S. ones I’m used to. They’re all foreign brands, such as those I’ve marveled at in London, like Mint Aeros and Cadbury Flakes. Finding these unfamiliar treats fills me with a strange sort of joy. I scoop up handfuls of the sweets, and as I dance back to show off my spoils to Cory, I wake.