There was a large group of us in some sort of resort or shelter in a big city that was very dense with buildings like New York, but more futuristic. We were listening to some live program on the radio and kept commenting about what they were leaving out. We kept saying, “That’s not Hollywood, what is wrong with them?” We were all famous somehow, and two of our group went down to the place where the show was being broadcast, and sort of muscled their way into it and onto the air. When they were on the air they went through the archives in that building, reading off names over the radio of things they pulled out of the boxes at the station. Most of these things were people’s names. They then came back to the shelter where we were, only now we were outdoors in the city, looking up over a long bridge to a massive tower on axis at the end. It was nighttime and all the buildings were lit up, and it was snowing but not cold or windy at all. It was an incredibly beautiful scene, but also quite stylized and old looking, like an artist’s idea of what the future would look like from the vantage point of 1930. We kept saying to each other “Now that’s Hollywood,” as we looked around the city, satisfied that some names had been correctly read on the radio.