dreamscapes

In my dreams, the locations of my life - Astoria apartment, childhood home, the law office I work in, even the commute - have their counterparts.  Recognizable, but warped.  Larger and more beautiful, but often threatening.  This seems to be common.

I work in a midtown Manhattan skyscraper, the upper twenty floors of which belong to my firm.  In my dreams, it is the same, except that there is a coffered, high-ceilinged, dim and creepy food court and conference area at the top.  One floor down from that, four small corner balconies, reached from the 46th floor landing of the fire stairs.  (The top floor of our offices is, in fact, the 47th.) 

When in my dreams I step out onto these balconies, they are windswept and ominous: grey clouds roll above and below, obscuring the street.  Sometimes I just go out there myself to be outside and feel the heavy wind try to pull me over the edge.  Other times I go with whoever in my dream I'm talking to.  They dislike my pressuring them to do so.  I don't know why I do pressure them.  Other times I'm chased onto these balconies, or take refuge, hiding there, from whatever greater danger roams within.