 A woman falls down through a window on the world. She falls down through a window on the world and splatters. Two more coming down right behind her, holding hands, and I can't see where I'm running. I can't see where I'm running. Jet fuel, black smoke, and I can't see where I'm running. I smell fried chicken, strong, so I run that way. And I trip up over a left hand, cut off at the Rolex.