Dream of: 08 February 1992 (2) "Unintentional Insult"

I was in the back yard of the Gay Street House, thinking about what I should do with a couple old cars I had. One (the green Nova I had had in law school) was parked in the parking lot, and the other, a small white car, was parked down the street. Neither car ran, and since I now had my 1986 red BMW, I no longer needed them. I thought they would probably run if I recharged their batteries – then I could put a "For Sale" sign on them and sell them right off the parking lot. I might get around $300 for the green one and maybe $500 for the white one. Someone who needed a car should be willing to pay at least that if the cars were running.

But since I knew it was going to take some time to get them ready, I hesitated to do it. I had basically stopped working on things like that so I would have more time to practice law. And since I was able to make so much money practicing law, I really didn't need to do anything else. Still, I needed to do something with the cars.

Carolina was with me and together we walked next door to what might have been a filing station. I had a brown extension cord which I wanted to plug into a socket, and which I was going to use to recharge the batteries. Next to a red pop machine I found a socket behind some wooden shelves. The shelves belonged to me and I told Carolina we needed to take them away from here before someone stole them.

Close by, inside a covered garage, was a slim, black-haired man (probably in his late 20s) who was also working on his car. He said something to me which I didn't fully understand, although I did speak back to him. Walking into the garage, I asked him where he was from and he said near "Highway 95." He continued talking, until he finally became insulted about something and began berating me. I was completely surprised by his attitude, and finally realized he was angry because I hadn't responded to something which he had said. I explained that I hadn't understood what he had said and I asked him to repeat it.

He began talking, but once again I couldn't understand and I told him so. He became even angrier. He continued talking, finally mentioning that he lived near Cincinnati. I stopped him and told him that a few minutes ago he had told me he lived near "Highway 95," which I didn't think was anywhere near Cincinnati. He stood up from where he was working, obviously flustered and angry, and said something quite nasty to me. I looked at him, and with Carolina encouraging me, said, "Fuck you," then turned and walked away.

Looking back, I saw him pick up a hammer and start walking toward me, obviously intending to attack me with it. I told Carolina to run and when she did, I began running myself and screaming "Help."

Running out of the garage, I found myself in the side yard near the kitchen door of the House in Patriot. I thought I saw my first cousin Jimmy standing with several other people near the door. I hollered at them, thinking they could help me. At the same time I picked up a thick, heavy metal pole standing in front of me. When I reached the back door, I turned and faced my attacker, swinging the pole at him. He laid down his hammer for a moment to try to fend me off. I thought was my chance. If I could just get the hammer from him, I could face him in a regular fight.

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