My flat was at the end of the hall against the building wall. Her flat was at the other end opposite the stair door. I don't know now who she is, was shorter than me, had long dark hair. Both flats had a shoebox studio layout with a kitchen in back behind a long counter that crossed most of the room, although maybe there was a closet. I went to the grocery store to pick up an entree for dinner, steered away from pork chops because Senator(?) Obama has Muslim kin.
I bought a package of ground beef and put it in her fridge. She later cut it open and in half with one swipe of a
garden shears hedge clippers. I questioned her choice of tool, slightly incredulous, and I don't recall her response but I was suitably impressed and complimented her.
And Senator Obama was exercising in front of the telly, shirtless (tae bo?). I asked him if he was dining with us, and he thought about it for a bit. I checked my watch (maybe he asked what time it was) and it was about two minutes before 20. I mentioned that I think he was expected somewhere at 8, according to what I had heard NPR. I think it had something to do with Iran and the Security Council.
Of course the most frustrating part is that I can't remember who she was, although I knew her well in the dream.