Hi there!
I tried A Lonely Road during a lunch break. I drifted into a nap and the dream formed around floating cities. I rode a tall pedal powered boat bike.
At the first stop I reached a tight cluster of small boats. A merchant at the center shouted about some miracle mix and aimed his pitch at anyone who looked uncertain. People noticed me right away because of my height. They urged me to try the mix. I backed away, lost balance, and fell into the water. It felt clumsy rather than dramatic.
While I tried to get my bearings, I heard someone say they were recording the moment. A boom mic hovered toward me.
The next stop grew from that moment. A boat home floated closer. The owner used the boom mic like a tool to pull me aboard. He said he was gathering field recordings and asked if he could follow me. I said yes. He handed me a cassette filled with sounds from the rescue. My tallbike had not drifted far and he guided me back to it.
We continued toward an old floating university. A group of science folks greeted us as if we were expected. They held cups of choco milk and chatted about odd projects. They showed how dead spiders could act as tiny mechanical tools. They talked about licking rocks to reveal textures. They explained how flattery can briefly raise a sense of specialness.
Something in their energy reminded me of a teacher I once had. Same spark around strange ideas. They gave us posters about their work.
The last stop was a new art fair. Each piece looked intentionally weak. A potato with a fork. A broken umbrella titled Weather Permitting. A shoelace glued to cardboard called Knot Bad. A dirty sponge named Absorb This.
My companion tried recording the scene but seemed unsure what to capture. Nothing there carried any interest. The scene went flat and I woke up.
Back at my desk I told a coworker about the dream. They said the floating cities showed that my mind wanted height. The tallbike meant I was searching for a better view. The charlatan was, in their words, my fear of easy answers. Falling into the water was a reset. The boom-mic rescue was my “creative voice catching me.”
They claimed the science crowd represented ideas I keep ignoring.
The dull art fair, they said, was a sign that my mind refuses anything that feels empty.
They ended by saying the whole dream was me preparing for a shift.
I didn’t argue.
I just kept the log.
Thanks to the creator of A Lonely Road. The game turned a short nap into a small trip that stayed with me.