We (me and who else??) were in someone's house, two-story, older, painted white inside. I was distraught at not knowing how to get to 3291. I looked at a loose front tooth, bottom row, in the mirror. It was coming out. I let it, but that one didn't come; instead two others I didn't even know were loose fell into my palm. Then they kept falling. Tooth after tooth broke free in my mouth until it was full of teeth, which I dropped into my hand. They all looked like baby teeth but they weren't supposed to fall out. I didn't understand. I floss and brush! I never got to my destination.
We (who was with me?) stopped at Murphy's Market, which became Richardson's in my head. I drove; Jorge was impossible to find in the parking lot. We reached the worn intersection to turn left, and it was confusing, but I knew what to do. except I didn't do it, and panicked, and crossed the median but overshot it and ended up in the other wrong lane. I thought it would reconnect but we ended up driving through a large stone roundabout, very British, to a fountain. I ducked into a cave where some apparently homeless men had instruments, and asked how to get back to where I was going. The British man had no idea and the less lucid one just stared at me. I wanted to go to Buttermilk Lane--the driving was all easy from there. "Baywood Golf Course?" I suggested. No luck. I thought I would just have to find my way back to the main road myself.