What is the meaning in a dream of tourist

Walking to my friends at around 9pm seeing this old aboriginal woman with a short pastel pink afro Dunkley stumbling around trying to avoid her getting inside the house and looking at text messages from my mum on an old boxy tv walking home seeing this old lady dead in a trolley with longneck vbs surrounding her me and my friend walk up the hill to see a family of 1 mother father a son and a daughter the classic fat tourists with wide brimmed hats long shorts a the son is taking photos of this lady while the dad is holding a long neck vb the vide is very dark i can hear eary music playing in the background we are walking home and this family is slowly waddling behind us following us i am holding my friend very tightly as we walk down this dark alleyway they family turn into a family of armish ppl and every time i look back at them they get closer till the father is right behind me and i wake up

It was a summer night, I was in a busy area by the sea and was with members of my family, it was like a tourist spot, with food stalls and people walking around and music playing in the distance. I was by the ocean, it was black and calm, and in the distance I could see the twinkling lights of another town in the mountains by the sea, a few kilometres away. I decided I wanted to go to the lights, so I told whoever was near me and started to walk in the water with no fear, I kept walking. Eventually when I came up out of the water everything was black and I couldn't see. I turned around and walked back towards the direction of the noises of people and music, to look for my family.

I was going on a journey; to where I don’t know, and found myself at the airport. Just before I presented myself to the check-in desk I felt an annoying lump on the bridge my nose; slightly to the left hand side... like a plook. So I trudged off to the nearest mirror for a look, and discovered the shocking truth. This was no pimple, zit, spot or suppuration of pus that had grown like a mountain to the surface of my skin. Nor was this a teenage bout of acne waiting to be compressed between my pinched thumb and forefinger, exuding a lava that resembled the contents of a squeezy bottle of mustard. But what was it? I had to look closer..... A miniature flower had taken root and bloomed through the surface of my earthly pore. Like a daisy gently bristling in a grassy meddow, the pollen scented aroma of summer surrounded by silken petals bloomed in colour and vibrancy. I began to pick off the petals one by one only to find hidden under each an angry wasp buzzing with rage and torment, including the Queen who sat under the petal at the top of the flower pointing north at 12 o’clock. For fear of being stung I couldn’t touch anymore and had to leave any future ‘weeding’ until after my flight. As my flight landed I found myself in Windsor and a new job. I was working for another Queen, this time Elisabeth I of Scotland and II of England. My job was to help with the smooth running of the upcoming Royal Wedding of Harry and Meghan. The job didn’t last and I soon found myself unemployed. Handing back in my Royal page-boy type uniform, consisting of plus fours, white tights, buckled shoes and a thrilly laced shirt, I returned to Mexico. Dejected, starving and struggling for cash I decided, upon advice from a friend, to become self-employed and was soon earning a pittance gift wrapping souvenirs purchased by tourists for their loved ones at home. It wasn’t enough though and my meagre earnings barely stretched to buying a plate of taco soup, rice and beans. But In a weird twist of fate my dream morphed into a strange success story – like the American dream I tweaked my business and moved it lock, stock and two smoking barrels to a gay nightclub. I was now offering a naked gift wrapping service and was rolling in the money.