I dreamed that I was roaming around the no-longer-in-existence Lakehurst Mall in Waukegan, Illinois, with Al Franken. We walked past some kind of hair salon where all the hairdressers and all the customers were old ladies, but Franken thought it was a front for a whorehouse, and he decided to go and see what kind of tail he could lay into.
This didn't appeal to me ... the place seemed kind of crusty and mildewy ... so I kept wandering. I turned down one corridor toward a region of the mall that I knew to be mostly deserted -- I think the consumer survey people had their facility there, and there might have been a "Balloons and Clowns" shop on the lower level.
But today the entire sector had been dressed as a gigantic set from a movie that was currently popular in that particular dream world -- a comedy that took place in the main chamber of the United Nations. Damon Wayans was there, acting out his role in the movie -- the smart-talking, funked-up Ambassador who kicks ass, takes names, and teaches the world's nations to get along and love each other.
I stopped next to a Fannie May candy store to watch the show for a while, and then Damon Wayans spotted me and called out my name. I was surprised that he knew my name, but I figured I had met him somewhere once and had forgotten about it. We had a nice conversation for a couple of minutes, and then I decided I should look for Franken, in case he was getting into any bad trouble at the granny cosmetician brothel.
Then I woke up.