I saw my friend Marilda standing in front of some old houses in the Cabanyal neighborhood—Valencia's old maritime quarter—sketching the local architecture.
I went over to say hello and she told me she had taken a group of her architecture students on a field trip to study the old fishermen's' dwellings.
Just then, my young daughter whispered in my ear that she need to go to the toilet, so I asked Marilda if it would be possible to use the toilet in one of the uninhabited houses, to which she told me it shouldn't be a problem.
However, my daughter was afraid to go into the old shuttered houses and told me she would wait until we got back to our hotel to use the toilet.
A few seconds later, as I was talking to Marilda, I noticed my daughter urinating on the pavement in front of the house.
I scolded her and told her to clean up the urine by emptying the contents of her water bottle over the pavement where she had just peed.
I then observed one of the houses nearby that had the name Jiménez written in white cursive letters on the window and front door of the house.
I asked Marilda about the house and she told me the story of Señor Jiménez, a Jew from Jerez, in southern Spain who, to my surprise surprised, was still alive and over 100 years old.
Marilda's husband, Boro, soon arrived and I told him I’d been having dreams about him lately.
He invited me and my daughter to dinner at his house later that evening and said he'd be eager to hear about my dreams.
Then I woke up.