I'm climbing and playing, with my old friend and band-mate Karl, on some large wooden structures built into the side of a dry, rocky hill. "Watch this!" I yell, performing some spectacular swinging, descending maneuver.

Down below in a courtyard, I'm interrupted by a police or military character, who grabs Karl and I and takes us prisoner. We're held for a very long time, subjected to torture wherein they force us to punch each other hard in the face. They command me to punch him, and I try to land soft blows, but they just demand that I punch harder. Then they command him to punch me, and the punches seem distant, as though I am getting accustomed to them, but still with a deep, intense ache.

I ask our captor very gingerly and politely, if please sir I might ask what I have done, or why I am being held captive. In answer shoves into my hands a stack of receipts, held together with a paper clip. I unclip them and drop several while trying to look through them, picking them up quickly and apologetically lest I be further beaten.

The receipts, about three in number, are for things Karl and I have purchased, but at first it is not at all clear what they mean. They seem like random purchases, things I needed for various reasons. Then it dawns on me that, all together, they are ingredients to make a bomb, and I am a terrorism suspect.

All my purchases are legitimate, and I'm sure that I could explain, if there was someone to whom to explain. My guard says that there is nobody to explain to, and with a record like that, I will be held captive for the rest of my life.