Of spies and after-hours requests

I dreamed I was walking along the national mall with the president elect, he of the orange countenance. He was explaining that I was to be the handler for a lady spy from Israel; they wanted to make sure she wasn't up to anything nefarious. We went through a passage in a wall into an underground elevator in black vaults below the surface. Here I met the woman, a few years older than myself, with a braid of frayed reddish hair and sharp features. Garrulous, she talked a lot, complaining disinterestedly about various things. This person is a spy? I thought to myself. We sat in an kitchen in that underground vault into the wee hours, her talking, me just listening and wondering.

*

I dreamed I was in Oklahoma, a large gathering in a warehouse-like space. Lots of old coworkers were there. An old boss of mine, dead now nigh on two years, was also there, clad in his Class A getup. He looked somehow shriveled and sick, with sunken cheeks, and it seemed like he couldn't get up from his seat. He was asking me about something, perhaps to get him something, but I couldn't really understand what it was.