Dreams: June 26, 1997

the 57th floor

I'm with a big crowd of people. I turn and see John walking in the door; it looks like he just went on a bike ride since he's wearing his biking shorts and a tee-shirt. A mean-looking man suddenly rushes up to John and swats him on the butt with a big white claw-contraption before quickly slinking back into the crowd. It makes me mad.
I want to get the guy back, so I go try to find him. I see one of his accomplices sitting on a nearby couch; he is long and skinny, wearing a dark-grey sweatsuit. I am holding a watergun. I start squirting the guy in the face. He doesn't have much of a reaction, staying seated, with his arms crossed over his chest. I keep spraying him, now aiming at his crotch. I use up all the water in the gun, and he ends up pretty soaked.
I'm now walking through the crowded street with two friends (a male and a female, I think). Through a couple buildings on this block, I catch the sight of a big monster. At first I'm freaked, but then I realize that it is part of a float in a big parade. The three of us decide to watch the parade from up above -- the top of a building. We are in some city. I look up at one of the skyscrapers and see a huge window into an office. There are two familiar-looking pieces of art up on the walls, both large canvases. Even though it's far away, when my eyes focus in on the room, I can see that the paintings are famous Cuban ones. Fidel Castro is in army fatigues in one of them, and Che Guevara might be in the other one.
We decide to go up that building, where I can see the cool office. The three of us go up an elevator. The door opens, and I step out. I turn around and see that my friends didn't get out; it must've been a miscommunication, and they wanted to go up further. Yet now it's too late because the elevator door closed. I wonder how are we going to find each other? I realize we won't, so I decide to go check out this floor.
The first thing that I see is a fancy sign that says 57. That must be the floor number. I walk forward and see that there is a great view down to the street below. There is a patio outside where many rich-looking people are sitting at tables sipping drinks; it looks like they're getting ready to watch the parade. I crouch down next to a huge window. Suddenly an older man comes up behind me. He's joking around. I laugh at first. Then he grabs me, pressing my body up to his, touching my breasts. I don't like it. Now I'm outside my body, watching a woman and a man in the same situation (or am I watching myself in the reflection of the window in front of us?). She tells the guy to "please get your sex organ out of me." I'm surprised because the whole interaction sounds more serious than I had thought it was in the beginning.


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