I ¬†dream every night and often it’s quite entertaining. Last night was no exception. I was the lead detective (of course) in a case involving some sort of espionage in a big business. We had one guy undercover, working at one of the desks in a very busy office. He was a Chinese dude by the name of Chen. Nice guy.

Anyhoo my team and I, acting on information supplied by Chen, raided the office, which was an enormous space. I think it occupied almost the entire floor in the high-rise building. We were at one end of the room, questioning people, while Chen was still undercover and working at his desk at the other end.

Suddenly I got a message from him on my phone. He’d set it up so that I could see him. (Is this possible? I don’t know because I don’t have a mobile phone and am continually bemused by all the things they’re supposed to do.) He was about to pass on some important information when he suddenly slumped at his desk and white foam began to bubble out of his mouth. Poison! I thought. ¬†“Get him a doctor,” I shouted. “Call an ambulance!”

It seemed to be taking forever and meanwhile good old Chen was dying. I had to do something, so I grabbed my phone and raced for my car. I kept tapping the screen, saying, “Don’t die on me, Chen. We’ll get you help.” I raced the phone through the busy city traffic in a desperate bid to get it to the hospital.

The weird thing is (apart from what I’ve just told you) that no one thought it was strange for me to take the phone and not the actual person. Not even me.

Deep, huh?