A famous woman like India's prime minister is walking down the street. She sees a car with a man in it and then a car with a woman in it. She has a premonition that the man will try to run over her and the woman will save her. As it starts to happen, I am her. I see the car coming at me and I throw myself up against a wall in defeat because I'm trapped. Then I think, "Oh, how awful," and turn around in the nick of time and leap straight up seconds before he hits me. I roll over the top of the car. I yell at him, "You almost killed me!" He smiles and shrugs. I say, "Give me your name and insurance." He gives me a card. I say, "I'll bet this is the wrong phone number." He grins. I say, "I'll take your license number. It is RE 7-12." I memorize it and then walk toward school. As I near the door, I see him walking, whistling happily behind me. I say sarcastically, "Here, allow me," and I open the door for him. He shrugs and accepts. As we walk in he says, "You aren't ever going to forgive me, are you?" He sounds upset like he doesn't understand why I'd hold a grudge on such a minor thing.