I dreamt the city was a hotel with no front desk

I was wandering through corridors that shifted when I wasn’t looking—rooms rearranged themselves like old memories. No one checked in or out, just lingered in spaces that weren’t meant to be occupied. The air smelled like burnt toast and wet wool. At some point, I realized I was the concierge, but my job was only to remember where people had left their keys. When I woke up, I couldn’t tell if I’d forgotten something… or if the dream was the real thing all along.