My brother and I break into an Army base, having gotten past the guards. There are cases and cases of grenades stacked up. I open one and throw it. It explodes. Then we see my father in the distance. He beckons to us. As we go, I hurl missiles in his direction. They are like giant bullets, arching up, then falling and crashing down. We speak to him about flowers. He insists that cultivation (gardening) is no different from nature. My brother and I argue against my father. The scene changes. Looking out a window I can see I am very high off the ground. A man below is reading off winning numbers from some sort of lottery. Thousands of people are gathering. He has somehow angered them. I fall out the window but somehow survive the fall. Then a huge oblong plate of metal tumbles down and strikes me a glancing blow on the head. I think it is a deathblow, as I am weak from loss of blood. I am weeping. My mother tries to comfort me. In between my sobbing I tell her to contact Peter A. (giving his correct address) and with this message say, "Tell David [David B.] I'm sorry." Then, as it appears that the wound is not mortal, I suggest we go and get an x-ray.