In the dream, I’m at home (but I don’t think it’s my home in waking life) when Hector arrives. Although I had other plans, I find myself going out with him to hunt for CDs (a wonderful habit we had back in college). I then find myself at a shopping center and my spectacles are missing. I want to ask for Hector’s help but he has disappeared; I search apprehensively for them and finally, despite my blurry eyesight, descry them in the center of a large (by shopping center standards) fountain. I retrieve them and then exit the shopping center through an underground access to the subway. Suddenly, I am jumped by a long-haired Oriental teenager who proclaims he’s a Kung-Fu practitioner and starts raining mock blows on me. In the dream, he is a completely ludicrous, rather than threatening, figure, although I imagine in waking life I’d be more nonplussed by such an act, even if the blows did no damage. Then somehow I’m watching a television screen. A newscast reports two acts of violence. One of them turns out to be the murder of the Kung-Fu teen. They show footage of him in the subway station where I encountered him; he’s been shot. I don’t appear in the footage nor does the newscast connect me with him in any way. I wonder, though, if my dream isn’t implicating me in his unwitnessed murder.
At the end, I’m riding the subway with a female companion and am quite uncertain about whether the route we’re taking will lead us to our destination.