I manage to say something like, "What the hell?" and my boss says, "You are living through a historic event -- Maine seceded from the Union this morning."
I look over at Laurie, whose pole-axed expression doubtless mirrors mine; several blocks away, the plane drops more bombs onto the offices of a bank, the building which has taken the brunt of the attack. Many of our co-workers cheer and applaud, as if this were some kind of show being put on.
I am staggered; these people are crazy! What about the people who work in that building? What did the bank ever do to earn my co-workers' animosity? Or that of Maine separatists? Why the hell is Maine seceding? And where the heck did they get a bomber? WHAT IS GOING ON?
We don't stay to find out. Even if the bomber doesn't intend to attack our building, I ain't gonna take chances that he won't hit it by mistake. As for my insane applauding co-workers, if they want to gamble their lives, so be it -- I'm so disgusted by their behavior that I'm not going to risk my neck for them. Laurie and I say, "Uh, right, we're working from home today," and exit, hastily, stage right.
The dream then shifts forward three hundred years and is set in the Star Trek universe, where it just gets weirder and more convoluted, but I'm not going to write that out because I've got to get going.
Please don't secede, Maine; and please don't drop bombs anywhere near where I work. I've got enough aggravation.