Napping on a bench at the Botanical Gardens on a bright end-of-March Sunday, I was awakened by a conversation between two other-wise-dull-looking blokes who didn’t know I was there:

“Oh man! I have no dreams. I am not dreaming.”

“How come, man?”

“Well, our house is fuckin’ haunted, man. One day I was looking at this picture on the wall and there was this shadow looking at it and I thought it was mine. But then I moved and it didn’t. Ever since I don’t dream.”

“Oh man…bummer.”

I reckon there’s a movie in there somewhere…