"Roger! Roger!" he called, and I shielded my eyes from the parking lights to see him better.
"Jazz?" I asked, recognizing him as someone I hadn't seen since high school. He hesitated, then walked forward more slowly, haltingly.
"You have to stay in the same lane," he said, barely loudly enough for me to understand. Noting something different in his attitude from what I remembered, I began walking backwards.
"What?" I was at a loss.
"If you keep changing lanes, I won't know where to go." Underneath, at an almost inaudible level, I seemed to hear the phrase, "Wenn er dorthin kommt, wissen Sie." I just kept going, not knowing what else to do.
"Uh, Jazz, I'm not just taking one street. Most of the time, I'm walking on the sidewalks."
"Please," more urgently, "come back and go the same way you were going." I was painfully conscious of his car's idling, of the still open door. There was a flash near his right hand, as the parking lot lights were reflected in what looked like a large cooking knife.
"What the hell is that for?" I asked, nearly turning to run. He looked at it with real surprise, holding it out with his mouth open, and stopped walking.
"I...I...I..." was all he could say. I woke up.
What? Why are your eyes still glued to the page? I told you that it was just a dream. The first sentence proved it.