This morning, over-tired from the weekend, Pilates and pottery, I dreamt that:
After diving through several swimming pools at a spa located on a space ship (in near-Earth orbit), I was running through airport lounges in search of Petrichor, who I found outside on the lam from the Poh-leece.
I stood on top of a car and yelled his name across the street as he ducked and weaved between parked cars on his way towards me, all whilst “interestingly” topped with a black, chin-length wig.
I could see the shiny synthetic strands sweat-plastered to his face.
I woke up before I found out whether he made it.
Maybe the bad wig is linked to Shiherlis?