I am traveling with someone by car. We are approaching a bridge and cars are all around. I don't know this at the time, but we are driving either to Long Island or Iraq. The exact place is unclear, though everything appears to be in the United States.
We meet a woman who lives in one of a series of small blocky buildings. She explains that there was a big sale at the PX, as there is from time to time, and that she has purchased supplies at a great discount. The only downside to all of this, she explains, is that she may have to abandon her home soon. The area around her home seems peaceful, but we know a war is ongoing in the region.
After this traveling, I am in a city but I still have to get somewhere. I am on a busy street and find a car that might be mine. I back the car into traffic, make a dangerous U-turn and then drive on.
I find myself eventually in a low-slung building and then in a narrow hallway in that building. I enter a room through a doorway on the left, and I find myself in a cramped operating room, where the surgeon explains his style of surgery. He believes in strapping patients to an operating table and suspending them. I imagine being suspended overhead, the surgeon cutting into me, and my dripping blood onto the floor.
Although I am still clothed, I lie down on an operating table. A woman is strapped on another operating table, and she is raised over mine. She faces me as the two tables slowly come together. We are pressed together, our heads turned to face away from each other. Slowly our tables rotate to a vertical position and move away from each other. In that position, our feet over the ground, we await our surgery.