I dreamt I was in a copying store of some kind. It was crowded. The place had a professional feel about it. Everyone there needed a very special service. The manager of the store was a Slovene fellow in his mid-thirties. His name was Leo. There was something special about him, too. He was a true artist, not just a technician. There was nothing about copying he did not know inside and out. And that is how he carried himself. He had a serious, pale face and thinning, dark hair. I remember waiting to talk to him. He was talking to someone else, but he said a few quick words to me when he saw that I had a pretty simple job. He spoke to me in English. The store was apparently in London. I am not sure what he said, but he basically pointed me to one of the store attendants. I think I had some kind of manuscript in my hands. It was about a hundred pages long. Anyhow, when Leo realized I still wished to talk to him, he let me wait a bit longer. I remember rehearsing in my head what I wanted to talk to him about. I wanted to address him in Slovene, and I knew I would surprise him. The fellow who was talking to him at the time was speaking in Serbo-Croatian. I think he was from Belgrade. His back was turned toward me, though. He asked Leo whether he had ever heard about the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where he thought he should go to study something or other. At first I thought I should interrupt him to tell him I knew about the Institute, but then I decided against it. I could see from Leo’s demeanor that he did not think too highly of the fellow he was talking to. He was not MIT material, in other words. In the end, I woke up before I had a chance to talk to Leo, whatever it was I wanted to discuss with him.