This morning, I lived in a biggish city near the ocean, with long sloping green hills overlooking it. (San Francisco?)
Partly as an experiment and partly out of boredom, I started playacting that I was mentally ill (but in a funny, charismatic way) and predicting the end of the world in song, and generally being a crazy homeless guy. My prop was a deck of mostly transparent playing cards that I actually did purchase in San Francisco, during my last trip out there, and my fear (in the dream) was that Kate or Glen would notice the cards and blow my cover, telling the world that I wasn’t the amusingly crazy character I was playing.
A psychiatrist notices me, and suddenly I’m a little famous, as he’s convinced I’m the patient who’s going to make his career, as I dance around with playing cards and make social commentary disguised as ranting.
One night I’m at someone’s house (Rich’s?), when radio reports of people in the city suddenly exploding into thousand-pound obesity in 5 minutes start airing, and while nobody at the party is sure that this isn’t a War of the Worlds kind of hoax, nobody knows for sure that it isn’t, so we all decide to stay put for the evening. I started wandering the house, looking for Kate, intending to come clean about my secret identity, but I can’t quite seem to find her, and instead end up talking to Bob (who’s eating the darkest chocolate cake I’ve ever seen) and Glen (who’s not.)