I was hanging out with my manager. His wife went on a cruise or something and left him to take care of her uncle, who has aids - at least in the dream. So we're talking about it on a bed. I'm sitting to the side on a chair and he's in the bed. The bed was brilliantly white. Some of the things he was saying: "When I die I want you to just roll me into a grave and get on with your life." He had to take this guy to an aids gathering at the stadium. He didn't mind that. "You know who won't be there? A waitress. And you know what kind of shirts I like to wear? Ones with tits on them. So I'll be wearing those." Some how he started talking about David Brent and then asked, "You know who likes to smoke marijuana?" I assumed he meant David Brent. "Me." 'Really?' I asked. "Oh yeah."