I was standing before the mirror, applying shaving cream to my beard and hair with the back of the razor. Only, I kept getting confused as to what was hair and what was beard, so instead of shaving off the beard like I'd intended, I ended up shaving out little chunks of beard and hair. It looked horrible. I approached my father in shame. My father, in this dream, was a Tibetan nobleman. I set down the camp mirror and made sure everything was set in the camp, and my 'father' and I began to walk up the street. Towards the house. Just outside the house, I found three pennies on the ground and picked them up. Remeber, we're in Tibet. "Odd money," I said. "European money," he said. "No, American." He grabbed them and flung them into the street. Startled by his rage, I said: "Oh, right, dad. Somebody can, uh, trade them in. Buy an apple." He glared at me, then looked up at the menacing clouds in the sky; they were rushing across the sky and were amber-colored and grimy-looking. We entered the portico and I whispered to my father, so the kids wouldn't hear: "Those clouds spell trouble." He nodded, and said: "American money." He fixed me with an earnest look. "They have arrived."