I don't pretend to understand them.
I was being chased by the cops then, and got cornered when the freeway dead-ended in a cement wall. I did a jump and pulled the bike up with me, to the side, and bounced the tires vertically off the wall, and went flying in the opposite direction, over and through the cops.
I can't remember what happened next, but it was on some kind of college campus, and I was using some kind of weapon, and hundreds of people were getting blown apart in sprays of gore and screaming and trying to run away. I drove up a ramp and appeared in a house, in daylight. I walked down a hallway that had been stripped of its paint and carpeting, leaving only light brown wood, and proceeded down some stairs into a living room whose walls were missing. I walked outside and saw that this house was on the freeway, in the path of many lanes. A crowd of young people, probably students, was milling about cleaning up.
I walked up a long stone stairway as students weaved around me doing their business, and encountered a newborn deer, huddled on one step, shivering, in danger of being crushed any second. I picked it up in one arm and continued up the steps. I found a tape on another step, and took it in my free hand. As I reached the top I saw the place where the girl's house had been, only it was gone, as if it had burned down. I saw the bedroom that I had crashed through. It was surrounded by hundreds of college students, playing music and chatting, packing wet sand onto loose walls that they must have been trying to rebuild the burned house with. It wasn't much of an effort. I was overcome with grief for what I had done to these poor foolish people, and what I had turned into to be capable of such destruction. I dropped the tape. The deer had died, and fell limply from my other hand. I walked morosely towards the house, and was buried in a clod of sand going into a wall.
That's all I care to remember.