In a dream the other night, I was visiting relatives at their house, some mid-century two-story house, which wasn't fancy, just a regular, working-class place. I was exploring the second story, walking down the hallway when I spotted a closed door. I opened it to see what was behind it. It turned out to be stairs going upstairs to an attic. I climbed the stairs, expecting to see something like a typical attic filled with puffs of fiberglass insulation and cardboard boxes full of junk.
Instead, I found what appeared to be a large posh hotel lobby. The high walls and even the ceiling were painted a mellow shade of teal blue to indicate twlight, with little receded lights shining like stars. Laid out around the lobby on plush carpet were cream comfortable-looking ofas, lit by old-timey brass lamposts with translucent white globes. A few guests, dressed like businessmen, sat on the sofas, reading. Off in one corner was a group of tables and chairs, like a small cafe or bar lounge. A doorway on one side wall led to a bank of elevators with Art deco styling on their doors.
There were no windows in the lobby, so you couldn't tell what time it was. There was a set of stained glass and brass doors at the front of the lobby with a few people streaming in and out, but I couldn't see what was beyond the doors. This lobby was so large; in fact, it was larger than my relatives' house itself.
The front desk, a dark wood with brass trims that blended into the back wall, faced the front doors. A woman decked out in what one would call a pirate's shirt manned the desk. I went over there to ask her where we were.
"Welcome to Murphy's Interdimensional Hotel," she said brightly. "How may I help you?"
That would be neat, having that kind of hotel up in your attic -- as long as guests don't wander downstairs, of course.
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