It was a summer afternoon. I strolled over to bleachers that were set up on the sand of the seaside. A man sat in about row three toward one side. I climbed up to an upper row and sat down. He sat below me, on my left, peacefully smoking a cigarette and gazing out over the water. After a few moments, I realized I was smoking a cigarette, or at least I assumed I was, because I was holding one that was smoked half way down.
I was confused. How could I smoke when I was so close to the lido deck and one year quit? The thought crossed my mind that maybe I'd just forget that I'd ever smoked it, but I knew I had to just start from day 1 again.
It was very real, down to the green grass, blue sky and water, and weathered tan color of the wooden bleachers. Fortunately, it was only real to my dreaming self. It was a relief to wake up, realize I was still quit, and less than two months from the lido deck.
I think it was a warning from my subconscious. I've seen some films lately where people were smoking, and I felt wistful about past smoking breaks.