the magic Nails

I dreamed I was at a cafe, outside at a table.  The cafe was dark inside and the structure outside was dark in color.  It opened to a pavilion that was surrounded with more dark structures, yet the concrete floor was almost white.  It reflected so much light, contrasting the buildings, it hurt to look at, as well as all the hipsters walking about.  I excused myself from the table, my cellphone was ringing.  It was my ex, and I had rehearsed what I would say if she ever called.  I answered the phone and she was crying.  I didn't let her talk though, I said every time I heard from her I would inevitably be angered or saddened, reminded of how stupid and naive the things I did made me feel.  I said please don't use my number again, I didn't listen or care for her response, I hung up.  When I got back to the table, Anne was there and I felt relief.  I found my fingertips were taped individually, like in band-aids.  Anne took them all off, revealing my fingernails were broken and torn, from the tips to the cuticles.  It looked gross, but I watched her rub my fingertips one by one, leaving the nails healed.  That's all I remember.