I'm in New York Ciy, although it is entirely unlike any New York I have ever set foot in. I'm on a narrow, curving beach with what appears to be throngs of Spring Breakers. We are mulling about in the shadow of a very large hi-rise whose architecture is quite unconventional. Its contours undulate as they climb toward the sky, so that every other floor bulges outward past the others.
Suddenly I look up and see something flying right into the building, near the base. It looks like a small plane. It crumples as it hits the building, and some middle-aged white guy comes stumbling — miraculously — out of the plane, only to collapse and, presumably, die there in the pile of rubble the crash created.
Everyone panics and starts running around. I inexplicably head toward the water.
We see more planes in the sky, flying low.
Everyone has to decide where to take cover. There are these large concrete block things floating on the water. I and about three other women — who are all blonde and really annoying — head inside the concrete blocks, which someone seals off from the outside so that we're trapped inside. We realize that we've been sealed inside some scary-ass ancient tomb or something, and work to get ourselves out.
I'm not sure how we do it, but by the time the sealed door is open, we are dozens of feet off the water, and someone has attached a rope ladder to the doorway so that we can climb down and swim to the helicopter waiting on us.
The blondes bravely jump all the way down, a la Fear Factor, and I'm the last one out. I self-consciously make my way halfway down the rope ladder and then jump into the water (I can't recall feeling wet in my dream). One of the blondes is struggling and tells me she can't swim. I grab her arm and tell her to kick her legs. We make it to the helicopter. I tell her to watch her head as we hoist ourselves into the thing and take off for unknown destinations.