Part of what could laughingly be called the "plot" involved me, ha ha, trying to get to sleep, and sleeping somewhere I wasn't supposed to sleep, and waking up to find that people I usually trust (i.e. people who I always trust in waking reality, and no, I'm not naming names) had moved things around and unplugged a clock radio and made other changes to the room where I was sleeping, so I woke up uncertain where I was and what time it was and slightly disorienting stuff like that. I sighed and got up. I knew they'd moved stuff around because I could see myself sleeping, and see everyone else doing their schlepping. (You can tell I take my sleeping seriously? And that I worry about sleeping disruptions?)
I also screwed up some sort of desktop machine in a bookstore, and the young guy running the place was understanding and all "It's okay, all you have to do to repair that is do this," but this (re-stringing whatever was on the desk) defeated me, so I just walked outside defeated (but not too defeated, as I had a Peter David novel) and read. In Honolulu. Near Pearl Harbor. Knowing also that oh crap. We're about to be attacked. Precognition is a harsh mistress, y'all.
In a detail sure to horrify David Walker, Cuba Gooding Jr. was in Hawaii, too. As the man he portrayed in Radio. He and a bunch of us were setting up deck chairs on the roof of the bookstore to watch the upcoming attack, like it was an outdoor screening of a disaster flick.
There also was a sad lack of babes. I mean, c'mon, we were in Hawaii! About-to-be-blown-away Hawaii, but still, some babes pre-carnage would've been nice. *grouse*