I was on the campus of
Kenyon College, chatting with a fellow who looked like my
tour guide from when I visited there
IRL. He was showing me and explaining a bunch of
graffiti artwork he had done on the walls of the
dorms and on the
sidewalks outside them. He was nationally acclaimed for this work, which showed stylized people engaged in routine,
day-to-day activities. "They want me to
paint the entire floor of the (?) Mall," he said, at which I was granted an image of a
crowded mall: the people walking over a huge
abstract design, a feathery
red and
yellow pattern sweeping the length of the visible (from a two story high
3/4 perspective) floor.
I was in my/the artist's* room. It was laid out the same as mine, only messier, with extra bookcases. Girls sat chattering on the beds as the artist entered the room. We were planning to start watching a series of anime videotapes, a sort of cross between Record of Lodoss War and that King Arthur cartoon. As I flipped through the tapes on a bookshelf next to my bed, looking for the first one, the artist told the girls about his many trophies and accomplishments. He was a member of a popular guy band. Hologram bookmarks depicting him and a black band member kept getting in my way as I looked for the missing tape--in fact, the bookmarks showed up even when I looked out the window.
Since the only distinctive tape I found was the red-boxed finale, not the opener, I turned my attention to the girl on my bed. She was the artist's sister or girlfriend, so I prudently waited for him to leave before shyly striking up a conversation with her. As we talked, our skin kept "accidentally" coming into contact--a brushed hand, a bumped leg. At last, despite firm convictions that I didn't need a new romantic relationship, I snuggled up next to her on the bed, my cheek** against hers.
* The graffiti artist from earlier in the dream, not The Artist Formerly Known as Prince.
** "The left upper," to quote a sketch from "Not Only... But Also...."