Forget the one where he thrashes me at tennis.

This is a gentler dream. His hand supports the small of my back, my head is resting on his shoulder. The fingers entwined with mine are cool and soft. We dance slowly. Though in life I could only ever waltz in one direction (to meet the opposing wall) here we move so closely together that I hardly seem to have legs to move. I could whirl like this forever. But, alas, I am woken too soon in the primeval sunlight by the sadistic constructionists (how long does it take to build a bloody fence?) and their diamond-encrusted jackhammer to find Ziggy curled up on my spine, one eye open as I stir in case breakfast is imminent.