An unspecified friend and I were riding motorcycles down Lake Shore Drive when I noticed that we were surrounded by petroleum trucks. I thought, “If there’s a spark . . .” Suddenly, one of the trucks jackknifed and ended up facing the wrong way. I saw a spark to the left in the middle of all the trucks, and I was desperate to get away. Then a crazed young man (also on a motorcycle?) with a bundle pulled out a razor blade and somehow was able to hold everyone hostage so that we would be part of the impending inferno. In the middle of this, a former coworker (C. M.) appeared and lectured me about the failure of a chef and a recipe that had something to do with me.

I somehow escaped, finding that Lake Shore Drive was now more of a hallway than a road toward the end, where I live. My door opened off it, and was already open when I arrived. I hoped my friend was in there, but in my mind I knew it was the crazy young man with the bundle and razor. I tried to figure out a self-defense strategy. I noticed that, mysteriously, things were appearing that were from my parents’ wedding/early marriage. These things are there but not quite there. I wondered where they had been stored because there were so many of them. Then I realised that I’m scared of being cut by the man who was waiting for me, but I became aware that I didn’t want to wake up because I wanted to prolong the scuffle.