Night of November 11-12, 2009

I remember being somewhere and chatting on something like the Facebook chat. I wasn't using a computer but the messages just floated above the ground like holograms. I was in some sort of warehouse district of a city — I think it was San Francisco. I was chatting mostly with Chloë K., Alexandra E., and Daniel B.. It then morphed into some sort of geography class with Mr Martin. I could see them but I heard everyone discussing population and immigration. I could say stuff too so it was like being on the phone. I got home (not really any house I've ever been to but most like the apartment in San Francisco, in some respects and angles). Though I could still hear Moritz K. talking about demographics, I had to shoot a big robot that had gotten in my house and was trying to kill me. It looked a little like a Sentry Bot from Fallout 3 but it was much tougher. The dream began to look more and more like Capital Wasteland and less like the sunny, bright, warm city I was in before. I remember targeting a Super Mutant in V.A.T.S. and it kept changing its name with things like “Jeanne and Harold's Stepsister after the birthd...”. With everything getting that familiar sunset-orange tint, I wake up.

I remember being around the Sunset at night. It must have been very early in the morning. Not a soul was up. I got on a bus and chatted with the bus driver. She was about forty-five. By the time we got to Market Street, it was daytime. I got off there and walked around a bit. It was pretty crowded. I talked to and helped a lot looking French blind man. He wanted me to stay with him and chat but I had to be somewhere. I saw the time and started to run down the sidewalk. I entered a museum and walked quietly through the exhibits. It was a history museum about English kings and queens. I found my class in an activity room. They were all finishing up sitting at computers after having listened to something (there were headphones plugged into the computers) and seen the exhibits. They had filled out a questionnaire. (The same kind that we got when our Málaga exchanges came and we went to the castles. They were just history questions and we had to look for the answer in the museum.) I took mine out, which was blank, of course, and wasn't sure whether I should turn it in or not and say I did later. It wasn't something that would be graded and they'd believe that they lost it; I convinced them. Walking around that crowded computer room, I wake up.