I was staying in a hotel with Laura and some other people. My family, her family, and a bunch of weirdoes. I was playing with this mechanical grabber thing. The kind you use to pick up repulsive garbage. We were all on the roof of the hotel, and I was playing with things down on the sidewalk with the grabber. It was very long, obviously. Suddenly, quite without meaning to, I picked up a tree and accidentally flung it into the road, where a little baby was standing. I almost killed it. I immediately slumped over onto the railing, not able to believe my stupididty. The mother, or one of the women down below, began to complain about me. She pointed at me and shook her hand and said in a hysterical voice "Well, ARISTOTLE over there just keeps playing in his happy world, he almost kills my baby!"  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to see Laura, and a tall slightly pudgy girl. Conveniently, at one corner of the roof, there was a large ... bed! So we went over to the bed, and stripped down, and just as we were all going to get into it, Laura said "Ohhh shit!" and pushed the pudgy girl off of her. "What?" we wondered. "My MOM!" Laura said. "I have to buy it for her."  "Can't you buy it later?!"  "NO. I have to buy it NOW. SHIT!" And she sprang up out of bed, got dressed, and ran downstairs.  The next thing I remember is seeing the ground below from an omniscient perspective, and the door that Laura had run through in a rush to buy "it" for her Mom. Another woman, looking like a character from Destinos (a really lame Spanish instruction series, like a soap opera) saw the door open and looked around. Cautiously, she walked in. Somehow, I knew about all this, and to keep her off the roof I locked the door. I don't know why I wanted to keep her off the roof, but apparently it was pretty important. She got out anyway, pushing open a different door that I didn't know about.  She led me inside to a very brownish room, and sat down in a chair. Suddenly "Jean-Paul Sartre" walks in. Only his head is HUGE, way out of proportion to his body, which is spindly and weak looking, and he's about four feet tall. And he doesn't speak French. He speaks English in a very raspy skater's voice. He goes over to the window and lights his pipe. He doesn't say anything philosophical at all in the entire speech he delivers at this point. Basically, this is how it goes. In a very laid back way, he pontificates about drinking beer, eating food, smoking, and fucking, pausing between each sentence to puff pondiferously on his pipe. Then, "Sartre" leads us to the banquet hall. There, everyone is eating food (surprisingly enough). All our families are there. All the waiters speak German ONLY. They're walking around service these pastries on silver hors d'oeuvres platters. These pastries are filled with eel chunks and sugar. I decide to eat one, because, after all, I'M IN PARIS!!!  PARIS. Suddenly, I was away from the hall, and virtually walking through a postcard. As I watched the sun rise over the Seine, "City of the Lost Children"-type carnival music came on in the background, and a cheesy radio announcer's voice came on as I walked through the sights.  "Paris." it intoned. "City of history and dreams. Henry Miller once wrote that 'Paris changes anybody who lives there for more than a year.'" (I had just read this phrase in a book by Ernest Hemingway, so in the dream I kind of laughed and thought, "yeah, they *would* get it wrong!") "On this side of the city, we have the historical city, the Seine." Flash to a picture of the river. "The Academie Francais." Another picture. "The Arc de Triomphe." Click. Then I was suddenly standing below an enormous bridge, which everybody had to cross, was really easy to fall off of, and which if you fell off of it, you'd die. It was constructed of this weird inflated doughy stuff, like high yeast bread dough that's been sitting for a few hours -- really porous and spongy. It had huge 20-story high arches. When you looked up from the base, you couldn't see the top. It was very steep. The colors were alternate stripes of yellow and blue, going all the way up. As I recall, there was supposed to be a flag at the top for those who made it. Remember this was a commuter's bridge, that everyone had to cross!  The voice intoned: "... This insane bridge." Then click to a picture of McDonalds. The voice said "Then, there's the other side of Paris. A dirtier side." Here the voice and music cut off and I was standing at a corner made by two blue walls. Suddenly I noticed an alley, and I started to walk down it, when two tiny little Pomeranians ran around the corner, yipping. One had the word GUARD spray painted in purple on its side. The other was painted with the word DOGS. So these were the GUARD DOGS. I started to walk by them, but they attacked me, and they were far too strong to fight, even though they were Pomeranians. I called out for help, but the painter guy, standing on a ladder and painting the wall, just turned around and laughed. I couldn't figure out whether he was laughing at my cries for help, the fact that I was crying for help from two sub-Chihuahuas, or the words painted on them. (Maybe he laughed because, after all, he's in PARIS!!!) At any rate, by the time the GUARD Pomeranian had eaten half of my leg off, the sensation became too realistic and I woke up.