Another dream.

The other week I dreamnt --

I am in a small industrial kitchen with some of coworkers from the (resthome) where I used to work at, and there's no windows or natural light, and there's like a shiny off-whiteish cinderblock wall on one side, and a metal serving tray industrial cooking contraption on the other, and as we're all in there doing our random work, suddenly my one (skeptical) (Mexican) coworker walks through the middle of us, and she is dressed like the rest of us in simple black pants and non-descript kitchen work tops, and as she passes through us, we all slowly stop, and then I look at one or two of my (Tibetan) coworkers and they are absolutely frozen stock-still and their eyes are just big, and I know what I have to do, and I follow her into the dry storage room, where she is doing something among the shelves.

"What you doing?", I'm like.

"What do you think I'm doing?", she says, not even looking at me, but just continuing to do the tasks that she's doing, "I'm working."

"You are dead now," I'm like, kindly but firmly. "You are dead now. You can move on."

. . .

(. . .)