A Sudden Dream/The Restaurant in the Dream

I lie on the bed in the apartment back home. She lies on top of me, soft, giving off a little heat, her warm breath falling against my neck, breath after breath. She raises her arms around my shoulders and neck. She says nothing, and neither do I. I turn my head a little to the right and see the foot of the bed and the bedroom’s blank wall. In that instant, in the second when I am staring at the white wall and have not yet had time to blink, I see a restaurant. I have never been there, but I know the place. A low, dark stone counter; a rectangular slab of stone on the placemat, with sushi on it and what looks like wasabi beside the sushi. I know it is daytime because I can see a blurred white light on the slab, the light of an overcast afternoon. There is no one there, at least no one I can see. The counter extends into a hall with a very high ceiling, full of yellow light, with elevators at the far end. I seem to have been there in a dream. Perhaps I dreamed it more than a year ago and forgot it five minutes after waking. But the hotel did not disappear. It sank, along with the light of the overcast day and the sushi. Until just now, when it rose to the surface.