I'm going to meet Mary from the climbing club, for some social engagement over on the east side of Portland. I'm not looking forward to it, perhaps wondering how I got involved in this. I find her difficult to converse with, in life as well as the dream.

I'm on a bus, and as we pass down Barbur Boulevard, or perhaps in the Terwilliger Curves, a large train, several times larger than in real life, crashes almost on top of us. The bus swerves and the train, off its rails and tumbling through the air, passes just over the top of us, as I am aware that I very nearly just got killed.