It's getting dark and I see a big suburban house at the bottom of a hill. There are well-dressed families getting out of their cars and going to the front door, where they are received warmly. It is a big party. I follow an older couple up the front steps and stand behind them, then follow closely behind as they are invited in. I go up some more stairs inside, carrying the statue of Don Quixote that my late uncle gave his late father, or vice versa. It's a little worn, the platform he is supposed to stand on is broken off, and I am also carrying a light-green button-down dress shirt. I begin to get worried that people might think I am trying to steal the statue from this house and I decide I should put the shirt on. I look for an empty room to duck into so I can put down the statue, take off my cardigan, and put the shirt on, but every room I try to duck into has somebody using the internet in it, or somebody sleeping in the dark. I start to get worried that if I walk into a room with some kids people will think I have snuck in here to do abductions, or worse. I'm not sure how to leave.

I was with a girl and a guy I don't actually know, we were trying to get away but Russell Crowe was terrorizing us with a gun. I managed to wrestle it from his grasp and back up a few feet. I warned him but he kept approaching so I fired the gun. It made the right noise but the bullet flew much too slowly, in a lazy arc, plopping into his chest like dropping a coin into a lake. I did it again, he seemed as shocked as me as we watched the bullet slowly go into his chest. There were bullet holes but no blood and Russell seemed to realize he could still come after me. The girl and guy had gotten into a car while I puzzled over the purpose of this gun. They called to me and I got into the front passenger seat but Russell reach his hand in and grabbed the gun. I shut the door on his arm and yelled at them to drive. Later, I was in a small classroom, trying to help some kid paint each wall the appropriate color, based on weird installations that were against each wall, strange amalgamations of different objects that all incorporated some things you'd find in a kitchen. Each wall had a colored stripe somewhere along it, too, and we were trying to figure out the relationship between the color of the stripe and the objects and then we were going to paint some new color on the wall-- it felt kinda Zelda-y. The classroom filled with students before we could finish, though, and an old crone teacher. I couldn't tell if we were high school or college students but the classroom looked more appropriate for elementary school, except for the weird sculptures. One of them, turned out, was mine, and the teacher criticized it by asking the class who would want to eat off of it. Few did. I angrily explained to the kid sitting next to me that most of the time I find cooking and eating to be an unwelcome intrusion to my work and that my sculpture wasn't supposed to be for languorous, sensuous dining but for uninterrupted work, but it didn't seem to matter, I was going to get a bad grade. For the rest of the class I dickishly raised my hand and voiced concerns or counterarguments to every question the teacher asked. The other students didn't seem to care, nobody seemed much interested in anything going on. About 10 minutes before the class was over some high-maintenance girl got up and just left, and the teacher made a snarky comment about it. Then some other high-maintenance girls objected to the comment, explaining that cheerleading practice was next period and that girl had good reason to get there early. This caused a commotion, with some students making fun of the cheerleaders and them firing back. The teacher lost any control and then I noticed Flynn at the front of the classroom.