I dreamt of Paris

I was in this really shabby Parisian apartment and there were three doctors clad in white coats. They went upstairs. I also went upstairs. There was a man on a stretcher, a man I didn't know, being operated on. He was our neighbor, apparently, two doors away from where I live in. It wasn't much of a sight, what with three doctors blocking the view.

Downstairs, a boy was being comforted by a man. Just to be genial, I asked him that it's going to be alright.

It isn't.

I said, well, why don't we just grab a beer outside?

He doesn't drink beer. He's about ten, and lanky.

After some time I convinced him, I don't know how we ended up that way, but the next scene was the two of us outside, finding the nearest cafe / pub.

I woke up, as with any other dreams, wanting to drink beer with that unknown buddy of mine somewhere.

It so happened that this has been my seventh (among many others, all forgotten) dream about Paris. This post is as much as I could recall from my dream this morning, which I hadn't written pronto.