We were in this scenic little town... well, maybe it was more of a small city... somewhere in the Appalachians. Bobbi had gotten a job there working on airplane radios for something that was like a state militia or something. I'm thinking that wherever this was was in some alternate Wookietopian future where the Free State Project succeeded or something.
Anyway, Bobbi had a Ford Taurus, and we were driving Michael Z. Williamson from the airfield to a Science Fiction convention in town. There were a lot of really neat old three- and four-story Victorian houses. Every element of the dream is pretty easily traceable to stuff from yesterday, except Mad Mike; I have no idea how he got in there.