Yes, last night's dreams were bizarre. I'll share as much as I can remember and explain:
I was looking for an apartment in Wilkinsburg. I remember having a prevailing sense that my mother was not (or would not be) happy that I was apartment hunting in Wilkinsburg, and also being aware that I did not care very much. I remember thinking that I could find cheap housing there, and that that was all that I cared about.
I found a place on Penn Avenue that was really a vending machine (a soft drink vending machine, specifically)*. You had to open up the front of the vending machine to get to the layer where the apartments were. There were only two apartments, on the second floor. Two very elderly Jewish ladies lived in the one on the right, and I liked the idea that if I lived in the apartment on the left, I could be their protector. Because the apartments were in the upstairs of a vending machine, you could only enter them lying down; you could not stand up. Well, rather, I could not stand up; the little Jewish ladies could because they were to scale with the building being a building. I was to scale with the building being a vending machine (which, by the way, is the way that all of Penn Avenue was to me ... as if all of the buildings were the size of vending machines).
Then something switched (or else maybe this came earlier - who knows). I was in my parents' house, and my mother was trying to convince me to get rid of my couch. I had just moved back to Pittsburgh from Chicago and I was upset that she was already exerting her influence; trying to get me to do things (like get rid of my couch) that I would have never even considered doing if I were still in Chicago. This happened when we were on the second floor of their house, but then I was in the attic, in the room above my room, looking out into the backyard. The backyard was in Wilkinsburg again (see, maybe this part did come first) and there were lots and lots of couches out there ... old, funky 70s couches, and little loveseats ... and I remember this guy was smoking and he tossed his cigarette, skipped it like a stone, and it hit all the puddles on the ground, but managed to skip over the couches without setting any on fire. There was a homeless man toward the back, looking around for stuff, and I remembered thinking that the first man should have just given the homeless man his cigarette and let him finish it.
I suspect that there was more to this dream and, as I remember it, I'll come back and post more.
* It's also quite possible that said vending machine wasn't a vending machine at all, but was really that weird orange thing in the smoking section at Quiet Storm. It's a thing that defies explanation. If you've been there, you know what I'm talking about.