The first thing I remember is a road winding up an incline, riding the crest of a long but not steep hill. There is a fair amount of congestion, mostly tour buses and cyclists. It's not unheard of in Fairmount Park, on a Saturday. It's spring, or early summer. The air is fragrant, and the sun keeps getting in my eyes.
I'm on foot.
I'm in a medieval japanese courtyard, maybe the residence of a lesser functionary or a successful merchant. The sandy yard is raked. I'm sneaking around, trying not to be seen. I'm looking for something.
I'm inside, standing on a tatami mat floor... I'm not sure if the interior was decorated in authentic or mid-1980s japanese style. A wiry old man is in front of me; he has a knife. He's a gangster, or a criminal or something. I'm sure he's an enemy. He's standing close, menacing me.
I have a gun, pointed at his stomach. I fire five or six times into his torso, and his face gets all twisted up in pain. He drops.
I look at the gun in my hand, and I think "That was impulsive. There may be more of them and I might not have any more bullets."