I got some letter in the mail my mom showed me. Some academic thing. I was invited to the house of a supposedly brilliant professor named Kadzuka (This name is impossible to render in Japanese, but I guess my subconscious isn't as much of a pedant as my conscious). Somehow my mom quickly ported me there. I don't live anywhere near Japan, of course, but I suppose this wasn't the important part.
I walked into the man's apartment. It was gorgeous, with shiny red oak on the floors and walls. Kadzuka himself was a rotund man wearing a blue kimono with flowers. He wore thin-framed glasses and an unwavering grin.
He was standing in front of the mirror, pulling out his hairs. I asked him why and he said it was a sort of massage. He said he'd show me, and I agreed. After he pulled a couple hairs out of my arm, I had had enough. I didn't find it painful, but I didn't care for it either; I felt nothing. Besides, I didn't want to lose all the hair on my arm. He seemed to understand and walked into the next room with me in tow.
In the next room he told me he made his living selling bootleg music, in thinly veiled code while smiling and winking. Even though he was a criminal, the guy was so nice I could tell he could never tell a good lie.
However, what really floored me about this room was the stuff in it. He had payphones all about. I picked several up to test them and heard talking. I pressed down on the switch of the hook, and still the talking continued. I reasoned that they must be connected somehow to other payphones. I eventually found one not in use, and though I forget exactly how, I put it back.
I asked Kadzuka when I was heading home. He said I could call whenever I wanted. We had finished whatever it was I was there for in about an hour (I forget what, but this is what I told myself), but I resolved to stay as long as I could as I found him so interesting. He showed me an old speaker from World War II, the oldest of its kind, he claimed.
At this point he took out a megaphone and said it would really upset a large ethnic/religious group downstairs if he took a megaphone and barked "Salaam" into it. I don't know how this would upset anyone, but he did it, and we ran downstairs, and sure enough, they were fuming and chased us. We ran around a bit, then we went back upstairs, and he gave me something to drink.
After a short period of not seeing, hearing, or feeling anything, I found myself in my house. I thought to myself that I should have asked for a futon, and how was I going to get back now?
Shortly afterward I realized it had all been a dream, and rolled out of bed to write this before it slipped my mind.