I was in an art museum with some friends from summer camp. I met this very cute Russian guy - he was tall with dark hair and these beautiful pale blue eyes. Between the accent and the eyes, I was a goner. He could have talked me into anything. What he did talk me into was smashing up the museum! We pulled pottery off of shelves and threw it broken into a pile. He took paintings off the walls and slashed the canvases. At first I tried to tell him to stop, but he said he owned the museum and the destruction was a performance art piece and that was a good enough explanation for me at the time. After we had solidly trashed the place, he started setting things on fire and it dawned on me that no matter how sexy and dangerous and foreign and artistically genius this guy was, I had to get out of there or I could literally die. Also I had to get my friends out of there! The fire was spreading and we were scrambling to find the exit. When I finally did find the right door, I called to my friends and showed them. They saw it, they acknowledged that yes, it was probably the exit, and they just walked right back into the middle of the burning museum. I was so frustrated. All I could do was leave without them and hope they followed. I woke up before I did.