Dream of:05 November 1993 "Fighting Over Money"
My brother Chris was sitting in the front passenger seat of a car being driven by my mother. I was sitting in the back seat, right behind Chris. As we proceeded I began to reflect that I was actually very fortunate to have a brother who had muscular dystrophy: having such a brother was unusual – there must be some reason for it. It occurred to me that I was trying to write books of dreams, and that Chris could be the subject of one of those books. Writing such a book seemed appropriate and contemplation of the book pleased me.
We were headed from New Boston to the Gay Street House. When we had passed into the Portsmouth city limits, I saw a phone booth in front of a store on our right, and I asked my mother to pull in to it. When she did, I told her I was going to call my father. It was about 11:30 Sunday morning. I thought my father might have another woman with him at his House, and I didn't want to unexpectedly show up without first calling him. If we showed up like that, my mother would probably cause problems.
I stepped out of the car and walked to the phone. I put in a quarter and dialed; but nothing happened: the phone was dead. When I hung up the phone, a bunch of quarters poured out the coin return. As I tried to scoop up the quarters, a tall, slender, black man (about 30 years old) walked up and butted in. He pushed me aside and also began dishing up the quarters. Upset, I pushed him back in an effort to get to the quarters. Some quarters finally spilled on the ground, and we both tried to pick them up.
As I scrambled for the quarters, I realized that I was now lower than the man, that I was in a vulnerable position, and that he was going to attack me. He immediately did so; he jumped on top of me and we began struggling.
I knew I had two brothers in the car; they would help me if they saw what was going on. When they did see, both ran to help me. The next thing I knew, the black man was lying on his back on the ground, and I was smashing his face. I continued until I had smashed his face flat into the ground. Smashing his face seemed appropriate for the way he had attacked me.
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