I am packing for a trip.
The phone rings, DH answers.
It's for me, a woman in Chicago asking for directions to Sacramento.
I take the phone, "It's easy. Get on Interstate 80 and take it all the way to Sacramento. It's real easy."
The woman is very appreciative, "Oh, thanks! That's what I thought, but I wasn't sure. I'm so glad you helped me!"
I get in my car and start going to, coincidentally, Sacramento.
I follow the road and after a while the road is getting smaller and smaller. Eventually it turns into a dirt road and dead-ends at a riverbank.
En route, the right way to go was not obvious and was kept hidden. The obvious way to go appears to lead people to the dirt road dead-end.
I am alone at the dead-end. I wonder how my fellow travelers knew the right way to go. None of them have wound up here with me.
I can see where I am supposed to be across the river, but there is no clear way to get there.
I get out of the car and begin searching the immediate neighborhood for a route to a bridge over the river without having to backtrack on the dirt road.
The riverbank is full of shabby dwellings and a few down-and-out people here and there. Most of the run-down houses look empty. All of the people ignore me.
I wind up in a cul-de-sac surrounded by ill-intentioned men. They appear out of nowhere. They don't say anything. One is holding a rusted aerosol spray can whose original contents have been removed and replaced with something sinister. He keeps motioning like he wants to spray me with it, but I cannot see a nozzle on the end of the can.
Every time he motions with the can, I motion to block him, and he stops. The men around us keep shifting position, holding back. They are waiting for him to strike first. He motions again, getting closer, and I block again, making contact with him.
Then I wake up.