Below is the last post in a failed attempt at long-distance book clubs. Still, though, it's a pretty neat-O dream:
Last night, I dreamed that I was making out with Sigmund Freud in a subway station. We were waiting for the S Train (which I am not sure exists), and he was wearing a vinyl overcoat... kinda like an Austrian Neo. In the corner of the station was a rowdy group of historians and construction workers (I don't know why we knew this, we just did). They were very loud, and we kept looking disapprovingly over at them to try to get them to shut up.