A strange dream:
A sapphiric expanse.
A disheveled old man in a tattered, gray overcoat scurries past me, mumbling an incoherent secret.

Decades later, I amble across the Golden Gate.
Doleful and defeated.
Suddenly, time freezes.
The precognition manifests.
"Not yet!"
He croaks before disappearing through the stench of moonshine.