To my horror I had bitten off the back half of my night guard on both sides, so a high school classmate said he would go with me to get a new one. He didn't mean a customized one from the dentist, but a bulky blue one from a drugstore, along with a strange implement to cut the excess off. I was wary of this idea, but it was too late.
We went to the bakery café, which looked more like a diner and was filled with characters. When one man in particular entered, everyone cringed. I'm not sure why he singled me out, but he insisted loudly and firmly that I was mentally deficient. Another high school classmate, who seemed to be the wife or girlfriend of the first, told me it was best to go along with him. I didn't like that he seemed so certain.
We went into another room to see a demonstration of a cannon being fired. This seemed very dangerous to me, but all went well—until a cannonball rolled toward the group from the cannon. I thought it must be hot, but no one along the wall seemed to be afraid of it. Another one rolled out (how?), another, and another, and as the pile grew people became worried that we'd be crushed by a room full of cannonballs.
We went back into the bakery café, but stuff was piled outside against the glass wall, and there was no way to get out and nowhere to go. I thought I saw a gap, however, and tried to break the window to get to it. The glass was unbreakable. I wondered if a heel might work, but I was wearing walking shoes. I thought of the device I'd bought to trim the night guard. I'm not sure that we ever got through the glass, but beyond it was a screen—or perhaps the screen was protecting the glass. There must have been a way out.
I did not panic.