The Mysterious Houseguest

Another one from last week:

I don't know if The Dreamcorder's existence makes me have more interesting dreams than my usual just-like-real-life ones, or if I'm just remembering them now that there's a place to share them. In any case, we pick up the action as our protagonist is exploring a mansion ...

I decide to check out the bathroom — or, more correctly, the bath house — which is separate from the main residence. Through the entrance is what might best be described as an atrium, with tall windows on the left that look out into the garden. On the right are doors that lead into the showers, each probably the size of my bedroom. The carpet is gray, the walls are cream, and there are nice dark wood accents that give the house the feel of a luxurious ski lodge. Architecture in my dreams is also usually very modern in style.

I look into one of the showers, which is dark. Outside the door, there is a switch panel. There are rectangular, black rocker switches with white graphic labels, set in a square, beige frame with rounded corners — very European-looking, in my mind. I toggle each switch left and right to see what they do, as various areas within the shower room light up (but dimly) and hot water jets spray in various directions. Bathing here would be like standing outside at night in a monsoon.

I either did not shower, or the actual showering was not interesting enough to dream about or remember, so the dream cuts to me re-entering the mansion ...

I walk into the large kitchen only to find a stranger sitting at the dining table. I get the feeling that he's not supposed to be there. I eye him cautiously, and he gives me a quick head nod and then nervously looks away. He is gaudily attired in red, white, and blue — baseball cap, baggy baseball jacket and blue jeans, and K-Swiss shoes — and is doing something I can't quite remember (either shuffling cards or counting money).

Suddenly, the owner enters. I tense up. It's LeBron James! "Hey, what are you doing here?", he asks. I'm nervous for a moment. Have I been trespassing? I mention to him that I told him I was going to use the shower, and he seems satisfied with that response, so I breathe a sigh of relief. I turn his attention to the mystery man at the kitchen table, and he goes to confront him. I don't stay to find out what happens next.

Not sure why it's LeBron James. I think my brain was just trying to find someone rich enough and ostentatious enough to have a bath house like that.