Imagine you’re looking down over the lobby of a 26 or 27-story building from one of the top corners of the room. It’s massively spread out and far too big to be just any building. A pair of revolving doors turn constantly, set just behind a small marble staircase leading to the main floor of the lobby. Void of any and all décor, the lobby is just this flat, cold slab, leading to two elevators on the far right side of the room. The east side of the room, that’s how specific this dream was.

As the revolving doors churn out hoards of nicely dressed commuters and spit them down the steps and across the marble floor, a man flies through the crowd, tearing towards the elevators. Your view focuses in on him now, and you recognize him as young Leonardo DiCaprio with an insanely altered appearance. His head is poorly shaved, he has a half-assed inverted cross scrawled between his eyes, and acupuncture needles covering exactly half of his head. He’s screaming incoherently at first, and calling out in his “Basketball Diaries,” teenage heroine junky voice. Yelling to his friend from the movie, Reggie, for one last hit before he goes clean. He swears to God he’ll go clean after this last hit.

As he nears the elevators, the crowd of people he had cut through with grows increasingly thicker, and people start to grow frustrated with him. A few turn on him, and take him down easily. They tie his hands together as he continues to scream for Reggie.

“No one here knows who that is,” one of his captors says.

“What are these, anyway?” another asks, pointing to the needles in his face.

With DiCaprio pinned down, screaming, and decidedly outnumbered, one by one the people start picking away at the needles. They couldn’t have been any deeper than an eighth of an inch. As each needle is pulled, a comical stream of blood jets out which causes them to laugh. They start at his chin and work their way up, one by one, around his mouth and onto his cheek.

Without warning he goes completely blank. He looks around, and looks up at the men who have him pinned down. Half of the needles in his face are already gone, and he raises his bound hands to his face and brushes the rest out. He brushes off the needles on his head, and on the back of his neck. None of the needles he removes himself bleed or leave any mark showing that they were there. Without a word his captors stand up and continue their trek towards the elevators as if nothing ever happened. Then, slowly, he stands up, looks back at the revolving doors, and continues to the elevators with everyone else.