I was at a rich friend's house (I can have rich friends in my dreams), and I was wanting to leave. However, I had forgotten the extra magazines for my pistol in one of the children's rooms (?). So I began an exhaustive search of every room in the house. It was actually a mansion, and it was after what seemed like hours of searching that I finally found it.
I stepped out the front door, and met a steep scree. I stumbled down it, and slowly made my way to the bottom without tripping and rolling down. Then I realized I left my jacket at the house. I am not sure why I had taken a jacket, since it was blistering hot outside. So I slowly traveled back up the scree and into the house.
My first step inside was into a different house, or place. It was an arena, and I was in the bleachers. I took a seat, and a woman next to me commented on the cartridges I was quickly loading into my spare magazine. She mistakenly identified it as a ".29 caliber" round, at which I cringed (it was a 7.62x25 Tokarev). She informed me of how she had never had any luck with the .29 caliber. I didn't respond.
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