Good morning, everybody.
I was probably in a room with some other people. We were dealing somehow with a murderer: either we were trying to stop a murderer from getting in to where we were, or one of us (I myself?) was a murderer, or was trying to stop from being accused of murder.
I was now in a car at night. I was in the front passenger's seat. The car was driving, but nobody was in the driver's seat. The car came to an intersection. I looked right, up a small slope. The car turned left and drove down a small slope, through a residential road with small houses and thickly lined with trees.
Somehow I now understood that the car was being driven by something like a spirit. The spirit had something to do with the murderer. I was trying to get the spirit to drive the car to the scene of the murder, i.e. the room I'd been in before. But the spirit may have been guilty of the murder. By bringing the spirit to this place, I could prove my innocence. But the spirit may also have been innocent, so I'd need to prove its innocence, as well.
But now the car was driving really haphazardly. It would veer and swing off to the sides of the road, getting perilously close to slamming into the trees. I began yelling at the spirit driver. I don't know whether it made a difference. I may have had to find some other way to stop the car. Finally the car came to a stop at a stopsign.
At this stopsign, or possibly at some other place, I saw the scene of the crime. It was daytime. A tallish, thinnish, kind of impish, old man in a suit and a fedora stood before the door of a brick building. The building looked like a small house, but it had a wall coming off its front end: an arched wall, like what might lead to a courtyard.
The man knocked on the door of the building. I understood that the man was the murderer. He had killed a number of people already with firework-like bombs. He was trying to lure out the remaining people so he could kill them, too. But they weren't coming out of the house. So the man left.
But as the man left, he tossed some firework-like bombs against the wall, underneath something like record sleeves that stood against the wall. The fireworks started going off, like sparklers. I had the idea that the fireworks would set the whole building on fire, killing the remaining people, if they remained inside.
I may have had a view of the people inside. They may have been good-looking, maybe with a 1950s style. One of the women may have looked like Tippi Hedren from The Birds.
The view may have changed into some other storyline, involving the woman. The background may have been deep, but vivid, green. The feeling may have been really watery, almost like the scene was out of focus. The scene then may somehow have changed into an anime, which may have given some story of how all the characters were doomed.
My view then shifted to a scene that seemed to be partly indoors and partly outdoors. The indoor part seemed like a Chuck E. Cheese video game and pizza parlor. Up a small slope to my left were something like ski-ball machines. The outdoor part seemed like a desert wilderness, with small trees and scraggly shrubs.
I heard a male voice narrate how a woman had criticized the anime I had just seen. Apparently my whole experience had, now, realy been part of the anime.
The narrator said that the murders couldn't have happened as they did in the anime. This was because the murders implied a busy time in the city where they'd taken place. But the woman pointed out, the narrator said, that anybody who knew about Japanese culture could tell you that the city where these murders took place was very slow at the time of the year when the murders took place, due to some local traditional or religious festival.
The narrator said that the woman's name was Brewster HXXXXX. She was an American, but she was well known for her knowledge of anime, as well as, apparently, her skill in creating anime.
I saw some kind of table with the woman's name written in big, plastic letters, almost like the letters were the landscape for a model train set. The letters were lavender, lined at the edges with a darker purple. I then saw another (or the same?) table, this time with the letters spelling out the word "ANIMEISTER," probably in different colors, and with other decorations around it.
The narrator explained that Brewster H. was considered a master of anime, or an "animeister," even though she was American. The term was kind of a compliment, but the narrator was saying it in a way that made it sound like an insult, because he was a little bitter that Brewster H. had made such an incisive comment about the anime. The narrator -- and maybe I, too! -- may have been especially bitter, since Brewster H. was a young woman, maybe even a girl.
My boss JE now came walking up through this space. There were a few cheapish dining tables in the space. I sat at one of the tables. Some of my "co-workers" (none of whom I recognized) sat at the other tables, one person at each table.
JE was telling us each what vitamins we were lacking. He had notes with him, like a real, physical study had been done on each of us. He may have been taking this seriously. But he was jogging around a little from table to table, as if it were all a joke. He also seemed to enjoy holding each of us in suspense to hear about what our deficiencies were.
I heard JE tell somebody else about a vitamin B deficiency. I thought this must be my deficiency. I saw a list of vitamins, with a colored square and the vitamin's letter, then maybe a photo or other image and a short description of what the vitamin did. The list said that vitamin B helped draw water to your skin.