I was in a hall with lockers on the side, low ceiling, a bluish, dark, cast to the surroundings. A dark-haired stranger whom I was with had just shot somebody. I didn't hear the shot, but I was conscious that a crime had been committed. The fellow who committed the crime had thrown the gun on the floor and somehow pushed it over my fingertips so that my fingerprints were on it. Then he ran away and left me alone yelling out my innocence.