Someone is spying on me. A tall brunette man, American, regularly enters my rooms and walks around, smoking and snooping. I can see him do this each time, but I am powerless against it. I am afraid of him, because it’s highly likely he means me ill. It’s always night when this happens. My apartment in this dream is really pretty.
I’m at a class or cafe, and I’m interacting with a giant black screen. I’m playing some cool tracks, from Asia. It’s 2 Asian men and guest artists, and I play the three free tracks over and over. I want to get the names, so I can buy the album. I can’t tell where they’re from. They rap about it. China? India? They rap about being Asian. I play the music a bit loud, and I realize I might be bothering other people with it. We work together.
I’m touring a potential space, either for work or living. It’s an old, unusual space. I’ve dreamt about it before. We’re at an open house. I think I can’t afford it, and then I think it’s maybe not even worth the money. But it is interesting: large strangely shaped rooms, copper walls, courtyards open to the sky mid-space. It’s huge.