I was passing by the Art College, and a lecturer approached me asking me if I could volunteer some time.
He gave me a child's sweater, a colourful little thing, and some cloth-cutting shears, and asked me to cut up the jumper. Any size and shape I liked.
So I did as he asked, and I cut the thing up in long strips. I was still as it when the lecturer came back.
"Actually," he said, "I want to see your reaction."
"To what?" I asked him.
"What if I told you that that sweater had come off a Syrian refugee boy ... who'd died in transit, blind, separated from his parents?"
I have been feeling teary all bloody day. If that lecturer turns up in another dream, I an going to kick his arse so hard ...