I and my family flying into a seaside city whose airport is not just in the middle of the city: the runway we landed on was A STREET, ending in what looked like a dock. Yeah, that was a heart-stopper, even in a dream. (Bonus? Most of the runway-street ran downhill. Imagine trying to land a plane in San Francisco. It was like that.)
(By the way, the flight started out so high that, from the plane, I could see the curvature of the Earth. Suborbital? MAYBE.)
Us moving with a purpose through the airport, and being confronted with -- WHY DID YOU GO THERE, MIND -- a box with a disembodied head. Um, something related to a spy mission that went hugely wrong? Maybe? And the rest of my family swining into well-oiled deal-with-a-mission mode. Even Mom, who was never in the Navy, let alone whatever secret spy group we were suddenly somehow a part of, or something.
Me? I didn't swing into well-oiled deal-with-a-mission mode. Me, I really wanted to bolt away from intrigue-gone-wrong stuff. Which apparently I did.
Which meant me winding up in a dusty edge-of-jungle gathering -- likely nowhere near the seaside city where the other stuff happened -- unsure what I was supposed to do. People were watching me. So were elephants. BUT NO DISEMBODIED HEADS. Maybe it was Survivor. Survivor has no disembodied heads. YET.