..underlit and red...

I'm walking down this crazy hall, all underlit and red like some seventies porno movie, and I'm walking past all of these doors, colourful doors - red, blue, yellow, green; doors behind which I know are hookers. [inaudible] carpet everywhere - red shag - on the ceiling even - but the walls between the doors are paneled with thick dark wood. I cough and most of the sound is instantly absorbed. Coming to a brown door, almost camouflaged with the wall, I swing it open, knowing that it leads somewhere else. Somewhere away from here. For some reason or another I'm not at all alarmed when I find Carl Jung sitting on a bed and cutting up a big line of posh atop the bedside table. He just turns to me, peering through his thick, hazy, spectacles. "You've got a lot of work to do," he says, pointing a rolled-up bill at me. I demand to know just what the hell he's on about, but he just sits there shaking his head and watching me with an unreadable expression. I slam the door and when I turn out into the hall I find myself in darkness - [and I awake in somewhat of a terror, whereupon I record this].