There was a flying object low in the sky, not really a plane, but something like a blimp with wings. It began to do slow loop-the-loops. Often in my dreams, the planes crash. Not this time.
I had been in Vegas for a few days and it occurred to me that I had not gambled at all—I had not once sat down at a table, nor wagered on a game, nothing. I felt vaguely proud, but also perplexed. What had I been doing there? It had been some kind of event I think, possibly work-related, but also involving friends.
Toward the end of my dreams I wondered about the motivations of Islamist terrorists.