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I woke up many hours ago, but I still remember it, so it might be important.
This guy I lived in Kenya with, called Bruno, was getting off with another girl I knew in Kenya, Lisa. They were both in my flatmate's room. Concurrently with this, Bruno was writing with a non-removable pen all over my house. I remember writing on the wall near the entry, on the door of the small closet, and all over the bathroom floor (which was beautiful white tiles, and very big, unlike my real bathroom floor). This pissed me off, so I told them to get the hell out. They ignored me, so I proceeded to call the police. I was answered, and they got up to leave. Bruno managed (I think it was then) to write some more stuff, possibly with warnings. I was scared afterwards, because Bruno is a black-belt in Karate, although I knew this fear to be unreasonable. People kept coming into the apartment afterwards too.
The real life situation is this:
1. People come into my apartment all the time. It's really annoying. It's like a bloody department store.
2. I haven't seen either Bruno or Lisa in about 9 years. They were two of the least important people in my life in Kenya. Why them?
3. Bruno once kicked my leg when we were play fighting and I couldn't move it for 20 minutes.