Chasing the bus into a police precinct

Chasing the bus into a police precinct

I woke up late for work and rushed out the front door, only to realize I was still in my pajamas. I sprinted to the bus stop, but the bus didn't stop—just kept going past me. I chased it on foot, but every block felt like a hallway that stretched forever. Finally I caught up, jumped on, and the driver was my old high‑school chemistry teacher, looking nervous and glancing at his watch. He told me we were late for a police interview. The bus turned into a precinct hallway, the lockers lining the walls were all my coworkers' lockers, but the numbers were wrong. A detective in a suit asked me to hand over my phone, saying it was evidence. I fumbled for it, but my phone was in my pocket, and when I pulled it out the screen was blank. The detective sighed, handed me a set of keys, and said, "You need to find the missing file before the trial tomorrow." I woke up just as the keys slipped from my hand onto the kitchen floor.