I was walking in an open field about a block east of the Summerdale Drive House. Most of the land around the field had already been developed with new houses, but this one field still remained. Dirk Loren (a neighbor), whom I had recently met, and who lived in a house on the edge of the field, walked up and spoke to me. He had lived in his home a long time, and he could recall when very few house had been in this area. He was complaining because one street on the edge of the field had been blocked off, thereby eliminating a short-cut to his house. However, we both agreed that the field would probably soon also be developed, and the street would be reopened.

He lamented all the building which had occurred, and he pined for the old days. He pointed to a large red brick building on his street and said a Seven/Eleven store used to be in the building, and that a book store had also been next to the building. I thought to myself how convenient those stores would have been for me if they were still there.

A dirt road ran from the field through a wooded area behind some houses. I told Dirk I was going to take a walk down the road and we parted company. As I walked I noticed a play area for children off to my right, and I thought it was a nice area for children to play. However, my attention was soon drawn to an unusual sight: a log cabin in the woods. The cabin wasn't a typical one. The cabin appeared to be raised on solid stilts so it didn't have a first floor and didn't begin until the second and third floor. Those two floors appeared to only have one room each.

Looking ahead, past the cabin, I saw an even more startling sight: another log cabin, basically like the first one, except with perhaps 10 stories. Although the second cabin appeared solid, I had my doubts about how safe 10 stories could be. I stopped and looked up at the cabin. Many rooms had large picture windows so I could see inside. Many rooms seemed to be devoid of furniture, but seemed to have statues or mannequins standing inside. It was a strange sight. I thought the rooms might be used to store works of art. I wondered how one would reach the upper stories, and concluded there must be stairs inside.

I thought to myself that I would love to live in one of the rooms, and I wondered if they were available. I was also thinking about my Cabin, and pondered whether it might be feasible to disassemble my Cabin and rebuild it in an area such as this. I had heard of people doing such things with cabins. My Cabin was still in good shape and could be easily disassembled. Of course it would need a new roof, and one of the logs across the top would need to be replaced. Other than that, the Cabin could be fixed up with little trouble. And this time I would lay a wooden floor with insulation under it instead of a concrete floor.

I broke from my reverie as I noticed a man (probably in his early 50s)  approaching me. I thought he might be a local police officer. I now noticed that on the other side of me, opposite from the cabins, was a row of small shops and businesses of a town. As the man joined me, and we began walking along in front of the shops, I asked him if he knew whether the cabins were for rent. He indicated that the cabins were for rent, but that he thought the cabins were all rented right now. He then mentioned that a lawyer lived in one of the cabins, and I murmured in a low voice, "I'm a lawyer." Since I was dressed in casual clothes, I didn't know whether he believed I was actually a lawyer.

When I asked how much a room in the tall cabins would cost, he answered that the cabins rented for $695 a month. The price sounded outrageous to me, and I knew I couldn't afford so much. As I stood thinking about the price of the cabins, the man walked on down the street. That was fine with me, since I didn't particularly want him walking with me.

I continued down the road until I came to an old concrete building, perhaps an abandoned garage, where I had been staying. I didn't have a home at the moment and had taken up residence in the garage with several other men. Before I walked inside, I saw a box with a large white fluffy cat in it. I called to the cat, but it wouldn't come to me. About the same time, not far from me, a woman drove up and when she opened her car, about 15 cats jumped out. Obviously the woman was a cat lover, and I thought perhaps the white cat also belonged to her.

As I turned to go into the garage, I noticed two newspapers wrapped in clear plastic lying next to the building. It looked as if the newspapers had been left a while ago for someone and had never been picked up. I picked up the newspapers and took the plastic off them. They had a foul odor, but I carried them into the garage with me anyway.

Inside, I was surprised to see that some old couches and chairs had disappeared from the garage. I recalled that the furniture had been sitting along one of the walls of the garage. A man in the room informed me that a couple other men had moved the furniture with a pickup truck. I regretted that I hadn't been here when the furniture had been moved, because I wanted to go to the new place where the furniture was being taken. I didn't like living in the garage at all, and I was just waiting for the chance to get out of it.

I knew the two men who had moved the furniture. One looked like Ed Bloemendaal (a Dallas acquaintance). I knew I didn't care much for him, but I would have gone with him to the new place, just to get out of the garage. I decided I would wait here until he came back.

I sat down and leaned back to read my newspapers. I hoped no one would be offended by their odor. No sooner had I begun reading than a gray cat jumped on my lap. The cat was lean, but seemed healthy. It was obviously a stray, and I feared it wasn't very clean. In fact I wondered if the cat, and not the newspapers, was causing the odor which I was smelling.

I rather liked the cat. It reminded me of myself. It was a stray and had no where to go. I could adopt it, but I didn't think I would. I might pet it, but when I left, I wouldn't take it with me.