So there I was, creeping through this government-owned building....
I'm not sure which government owned it, but it might have been the City of Palo Alto. It looked, from the outside, like a rectangular block of storage units, except that each apparent front/back unit door pair actually led to the ends of a hallway running crossways through the building, with offices, labs, and suchlike off to the sides of the hallways. I had some legitimate business there, but I wasn't supposed to have a key (which I had), nor to be there unescorted (which I was), and certainly not to be there in the dead of night (ditto).
Anyway, I went through the unit nearest the street end of the building and out the back door, having realized that my business was in a unit much further back. At this point, I noticed that the entire back wall (probably the front, too, but I hadn't noticed it) was made up of doors: there were blue doors with handles and locks (to which I had the key), leading to the aforementioned hallways and rooms, and, in between them, many more black doors with recessed pulls and no locks. Opening a few of these, I found secondary doors behind them: perhaps elevator doors, for access to various basement levels, but for which I didn't have the access codes.
Having locked up the back door through which I'd exited, I was starting to head for the unit where my business lay, when I suddenly couldn't remember whether I'd turned out the lights. This was kind of important, as I didn't want anyone coming in in the morning to notice that anything was amiss. I found the right blue door, opened it, confirmed that all was dark inside, and....
Suddenly I was no longer the protagonist, but a disembodied observer of an entirely different story playing out in the same location, behind the mysterious building on a moonless night. As my eyes adapted to the starlight, I saw the Protagonist and his Sidekick, there on a secret mission whereof the nature was yet to be revealed, and the Old Nemesis, there on a contrary mission for the Adversary. For some reason, the Nemesis was disguised as a cowboy. A cartoon cowboy. He was a roughly-drawn animation, while everyone else was either live-action of very realistic CGI. Protagonist and Nemesis (the latter holding aloft a non-period-authentic single-action revolver) then engaged in classic Western showdown-at-high-noon banter while trying to get close enough to start shooting when they wouldn't be able to see their sights in the dim light.
Suddenly Protagonist drew his moderately-customized model 1911 and shot Nemesis four or five times, plus another two after he was down, for good measure. While he was reloading, Sidekick went over to the fallen Nemesis, introduced himself, and helpfully held up a large mirror (which hadn't been there a moment before) so that Nemesis could watch himself die.
Oh, and somehow nobody had been blinded by the muzzle flashes. Maybe some lights had come on, because the illumination had improved considerably just after the shooting started. Or maybe it was just dramatic necessity.
At this point, I noticed (in real life) that Huckleberry was busily nudging me, jumping back and forth over my head, and generally being a nuisance, so I got up and read some early-morning Internets before crawling back into bed.
Location: a small pet shop, with many exotic birds. Notably present is a Senegal parrot named Pookie, who once belonged to a former girlfriend. I think he lives in Monterey these days. A flamingo wants a head scritch, but promptly morphs into a Moluccan cockatoo, which still wants a head scritch. Pookie flies into the back of the store, where, following him, I have a chat with someone I know but can't identify (possibly someone from high school, if she'd been aging at half speed).
Returning to the front of the store, I notice that the flamingatoo has now morphed into a medium-large, vaguely pinkish, curly-haired dog. Which still wants a head scritch.
Then I'm home, but not exactly. Tinga has most of her feathers, which means either it's many years ago or a miracle has happened. I'm living in nearly the same physical location, apparently, but from the street geometry I must be a couple of hundred feet north and slightly west, and instead of my house, I'm living in a similar-sized unit on the ground floor of a 75-foot cube (possibly a classic dystopian concrete cube, but more likely particle board like all the other new construction nowadays). Seems that all the neighborhood's connections to the outside world (starting with the relatively new pedestrian/bicycle overcrossings, but then extended to the original streets) had been found to be in violation of new zoning ordinances, and the entire neighborhood had been isolated and redeveloped in place, with each two original houses being replaced by a 20-unit cube.
There are many sirens. I step outside to have a look, and to let Tinga poop on the little strip of dirt outside the front door. The street is filled with police vehicles, coming and going: must be a grand flurry of raids of some sort. Most of the cars in sight initially are from Brinks 360, but there are a lot of... trucks? Vans? Trailers? ...bearing the markings of the San Jose Police Department (apparently San Jose had gobbled up Santa Clara and Sunnyvale) something something something Unit, where the somethings keep changing, perhaps to match whatever the raids are turning up. Animatronic paint belongs to The Diamond Age, right? The markings were definitely painted on, and nonetheless were dynamic.
There the dreams ended, as it was decidedly morning and time to wake up, tend the critters, and so on.
Now 'tis time that I should gather my launderments, go forth, and wash, for tomorrow morning I have a teleconference during what would normally be my laundry time.