Most of it I get.
But this thing.. somehow I'd inspired the guy I was with to tell me to "stay right there" and run off. We were at the oceanfront, but at an oceanfront were you could see the ocean from the street. So ... the oceanfront maybe around 1950 or so. A few small, low buildings, but otherwise open space up from the sand to the grass to the road.
He ran off and I saw him with a pain stick in his hand.. the kind you use to stir paint in a bucket. He was sprinting toward me... telling me to run... telling everyone around him to run, just run toward the beach.
He caught up to me, grabbed my hand and we ran along. I asked him what it was... because I could hear a rumbling now and he just smiled this huge smile at me and told me we had to get to the red line and then we could stop running.
Up ahead I see a small parking sign and the guy stops when we get past it, and turns and we watch while a disaster movie tsunami of neon blue paint slams toward us and just ... Stops... at the parking sign.
Like there's a piece of glass. And it's like an aquarium in a lil kid's drawing. The water opaque.
Then it's later that night and there are people camped all over the beach, singing songs and playing in front of campfires and being sooooooooooo happy for the cameras trying to catch them on film, trapped in their spots, all their adversity.
I don't know how long that goes on... but it seems like a long long time.