I walk through the Braintree Freeport Carpark every day.
The day before this picture was taken was the day that the winner of an art prize I was in the running for was due to be announced. I checked my email and the prize's website every 15 mins to from 9am until 11pm to see if I'd won, but didn't hear anything.
That night, I had a dream in which one of the other nominees one the prize, and I woke up with a feeling of disappointment that I tried to shake by telling myself it was just a dream. I checked my email while I ate my toast and there was no word from the organisers. I checked the website while I drank my coffee and found that I had, in fact, become a runner up. Someone else had won.
My walk to work was desolate. I had already spent the prize money in my mind, and I desperately needed the recognition that the prize would have afforded me. When I came to the car park, half-full of the cars of faceless commuters, I felt it said something about my mood, and took this picture.
On the train, I fell asleep. I dreamt that I became a volunteer in the police force in order to win the chance to go on a date with Florence Welch, of Florence and the Machine, and won. My date with Florence involved catching the train back to Braintree Freeport (where I'd got on the train in waking life), and she had brought three male friends, one of whom was wearing bottle-top spectacles, another who was chubby with a shaved head. She was much shorter in my dream than I imagine she is in real life, as in real life she appears to be about 7' tall, and she was normal size in my dream. Her voice was reedy, thin and annoying, and she was far too theatrical in conversation for my taste. I didn't particualry enjoy her company, although I identified with something desperate and sad in her male companions.
When I woke up at Liverpool Street, I felt amazing, and totally over the fact I'd missed out on the art competition, although I couldn't work out why.
I was walking to work, so it would have been about 7:25am when I took this.