The plane landed after flying over some land, where it was clear and sunny, and then some sea, where it was snowing, then raining, and you could see huge waves crashing. I gathered my things, remembering to take S’s bag. We ended up in some nondescript pub. There was a dart-like game going on, where you threw things at targets arranged around the ceiling of a side room. Many of my friends from home were there, as was Mick Jagger. It appeared he’d decided this place was his local, and coming here was a way to reconnect with real people in the real world. I held the object that you threw in the game, a small, plastic thing like a die. I was to give it to Mick, who stood in line for the next game, but I was too far away. “Michael! Michael!” I called. He didn’t respond. Finally: “Mick! Mick!” He looked up just as the object I’d thrown landed stupidly beside him. Virgil Van Dijk was also playing. Someone said he was a prime candidate for Speaker of the House. It made sense to me. Great athlete, popular, tall. I wanted to get more drinks but S was concerned I wouldn’t be able to drive home. “Just one more,” I promised, and set out into a maze of bars and stalls to look for something. The place had a signature drink, a kind of lemonade thing, but I decided I wanted a Guinness.