D. and I are in my childhood home, and our cat Won-Ton is with us. I look out the window to see her lying on the grass outside. We panic, because she is supposed to be indoor-only. Just as we open the front door to get her to come back inside a gang of aggressive cats shows up and scares her away. We try to run after her but it is no use, she is gone. We are in despair.
We make up missing cat flyers to post in hopes of getting her back. One of D.'s business associates enthusiastically volunteers to take a bunch to distribute, but she gets on a Greyhound bus heading to the opposite coast and begins handing out flyers to the passengers, with the aim of handing out more when the bus arrives at the terminal. It is a spectacular waste of time and effort, and D. and I are stunned at her stupidity.
We try to drive around town to find Won-Ton, but the roads are narrow, overgrown with brush, and are twisty and winding, making driving difficult. The people we encounter act uninterested in our search.
I wind up stranded in San Francisco, no longer looking for Won-Ton but still on some sort of quest. It is getting dark and I am hungry. I need to get back to the the Transbay Terminal, but I keep referring to it as the Ferry Building instead. I am inside an enormous, run-down store that sprawls for several blocks along Market Street. I go the the deli section and look at the heaps of food, trying to find something without meat in it. Everything is poorly labeled, with no clear indication of ingredients or price. I crawl onto the curved glass cover of a display case to get a closer look, but I wind up having to ask the creepy workers which entrees are vegetarian.
They serve me up a little square of lasagna and plunk it in a plastic bag and tell me I have to go through the blue door. "The blue door?!" I respond quizzically. Yes, they insist, you have to go through the blue door, over there, gesturing to the back corner of the premises, which I cannot see clearly. I say okay but go in the opposite direction to find something to drink. I wander all over the huge store through the disorganized and shabby aisles looking for juice or soda. My legs begin to hurt from walking so much. It is so crowded and chaotic in the store I go outside onto the sidewalk, where I can walk more easily, to head for another entrance.
Instead of office buildings, there is a huge parking lot along Market St. I need to get back to the Ferry Building and I'm too tired to walk. I find a bus stop in the parking lot and look for a sign showing how much the fare is, without success. A bus pulls up and I board and ask the driver if she is heading east toward the Ferry Building. She closes the door and begins to drive away as she replies, "No, I'm going west, but I can drop you off to get a bus going east when we get to Minneapolis."
I do not want to go all the way to Minneapolis, and I am shocked that the driver thinks nothing of forcing me to go so far out of my way. I protest, and she stops along a very sketchy block of Market St. to let me off at a metro station entrance. It is dark and there are lots of unsavory characters hanging about. My only choice is to enter the station and get on the metro heading east. I pull some spare change out of my pocket to get ready to pay my fare, but all my coins have shrunk down to the size of watch batteries and I can barely pick them up in my numb fingers. I still cannot find a sign that says what the fare costs.