Some kind of boy band (maybe 98 Degrees or whatever--I'm working for a company that does Cosmogirl, so go figure), is standing against a flat background, as though at a photoshoot. I'm watching them from the point-of-view of the photographer. I don't have a physical form though. I feel weightless.
The stylists finish prepping them for the shoot and they stand there, expectantly. Then assistants come up and begin putting lines of cocaine on their shirts, running up-down, and somehow miraculously staying affixed to the shirts, even though gravity and air currents would tend to scatter the lines everywhere.
They start doing lines furiously, while some kind of Dead Kennedys instrumental goes in the background, and cheesy lights are flashing everywhere. It looks like a video from circa 1982. Then they strip off their shirts, totally high, and assistants give them razor blades. They use the razor blades to cut vertical slashes in their chests, shoulders and stomachs--then the assistants come and put coke in the cuts.
The 98 Degree guys start to look really messed up. I wake up.