Back To Uxbridge (night of 16/05/2019)

I have come back to Uxbridge again on another pilgrimage into my past. A grey and overcast today - hint of slight wet in the air. Walking around the station (bigger and more 'urban' than recalled). Walking into Smiths - is it in the right place, I wonder? I look back - no, it is in the corner where it has always been - but it is also here, where Our Price used to be. I follow 3 teenagers in - one of them - a girl - is barefoot. One of the teenagers head straight for the counter. The layout of this Smiths reminds me of the one in Worcester.
I head around the back of Uxbridge, looking for a toilet. I know there is one in The Pavilions shopping centre. I do not seem to be able to find the shopping centre. My phone rings - I am not sure who it is - if it is Andy - or maybe an old man (unknown in waking life) - who may be recovering from recent hospital treatment. I talk anyway, and do not ask who it is, and am careful to use no names.
I talk about this return to Uxbridge - of how to everyone else I pass by it is just a normal day - nothing special - but how it is really important to me - as this may be the last time I ever come back to Uxbridge. As I say this, I wonder if I am correct. I want my last return to these teenage grounds to be on e which provides closure or at least a bit of happiness. As I explain this to whomever I am talking to, I pass by groups of Indian women - to them, Uxbridge is normal and the everyday.
As I walk I continue looking for The Pavilions shopping centre. I appear to have walked out of the centre of town, and am now in an oddly deserted outskirt full of unused looking industrial and municipal buildings. I look at one building - ringed by wire fences, and note that the rubbish has piled up to almost the first floor. Is that the same pile of rubbish I remembered when I was a teenager, back when it was smaller, when the pile of rubbish was just beginning? Anyhow, it is not The Pavilions. Where on earth is it? I say to my phone companion, that the thing with Uxbridge is that it is a lot harder to find your way around here than other places... so much easier to get lost.
I find myself down a very narrow pathway, bordered by two high embankments / walls that tower above me. The centre of the path is littered with rusty remnants of some industrial project - each side of the path has a narrow ledge it is possible to walk along. I am not sure whether or not it is easier to walk along these, or the sandy ground of the path itself, and make my way over the industrial objects.
I eventually come to the end of the path, and have to clamber through some polythese covering the end. I feel guilty about ripping this - but do so anyway, and clamber back up onto a path by a road - a roundabout in the distance - other empty looking buildings.
I turn and look back into the path, and am surprised to see a gravestone, just at the head of the alleyway. The gravestone looks new , and seems to be for two or three people. I read the inscription - one is for a woman, who died at the age of 66, after she had an accident 'learning something new on her corncob machine' - while another name is that of an air pilot who died in an aviation accident.
I continue walking.
I am approaching a patch of grass I remember from other return trips to Uxbridge. I wonder if maybe I should contact Simon? I know he lives here, and wont have seen him for over 20 years. Perhaps that would provide some sort of closure?
But my alarm goes off, and I am wrenched from dream back into the waking world.