Sam was giving me a ride back up to the Cream City; we were heading north on HWY 12 in the dark when both his headlights went out. We found ourselves transported to an unknown-imagined-up DMV instantaneously, where Sam had to renew his license, but the workers wouldn't allow it because they held a grudge against Sam; apparently he was very rude with them over the phone on a separate occasion.
As he was pleading his case at the DMV counter, Sam morphed into Frankie Foster, an elementary schoolmate of mine whom I've lost touch with. Then Sam, in Frankie Foster form, stormed out of the building. I was left there guilty by association, and the DMV employees had some sour words to say about my character. In response to their mistaken ideas about my reputation, I said, "No, I'm not!" They replied, "Yes, you are!" Again, I said, "No, I'm not," as I was leaving the DMV, backing out slowly, guarding myself. Then in unison the workers said, "Yes, you are!"
This exchange repeated itself until I was finally out the door, back in the wintry dark. But then for dream comedic value, I entered a secret side door back into the DMV in order to get the last word in, saying, "No, I'm not!"