I was lying on the bed in a bedroom on the second floor of a rather run-down frame house where I was living. In my hand I had a small white statuette which, although not clearly defined, seemed like a man sitting on a horse. I leaned over the side of the bed and threw it underneath, but then, thinking someone might find it, I reached under the bed and pulled out the statuette. I stood from the bed, opened the door of a closet, and put the statuette over to the side of an upper shelf where I thought it would be safe.

I wasn't the only person living in the house. In fact quite a few other people were living there, and someone had simply given me permission to stay there a while. I recalled another man (about 50 years old) who was also staying in the house. I thought I had shown him the statuette and had told him he could use it if he wanted to, but I didn't want him to take it. I recalled we had had a conversation about his life, and it seemed as if we had spoken in German. In fact, it seemed as if the man might have been German, for I remembered his telling me about his experiences in a German war.

As I walked outside the house, I particularly remembered the man having talked about being in the war in Africa. With muddled thoughts, partially in German, about the war and Africa, I slowly realized I was now in Africa. I changed from walking to jogging and realized I was running around a circular track, and perhaps 100 other people were also running around the track. All were black, and I felt conspicuous being the only white, but I didn't think anyone would bother me. The pace was comfortable, and I even began running a little faster. At one point I passed a woman jogging in the wrong direction, but nothing else unusual happened.

As I jogged, I continued thinking about Africa. I knew that many of Africa's countries had sunk into poverty and that they now received aid from wealthier countries. I was of the opinion the aid should be cut off. The African countries had in many instances fought wars for their independence and had succeeded in ejecting the colonial powers. The Africans had claimed they should be given control of their own destinies. If that was the case, I thought, they should not now come back begging to the very countries which they had thrown out. They should fend for themselves.

Still thinking, I left the track, walked back into the house and sat down in a small living room, which almost seemed like a waiting room for an office. I noticed a television turned on and I looked at the screen. I immediately recognized a scene from the movie The Godfather. Michael Corleone (the character played by Al Pacino) was speaking to someone. The scene then changed to one of Don Vito Corleone (the character played by Marlon Brando). I remembered this scene as being a particularly famous one, and I wished I had known the show was on so I could have taped it, but then I remembered I didn't need to tape it because I already had a copy of it on cassette.

I slowly realized another man was sitting to my left. Looking at him more closely, I recognized the face, although I didn't know his name. He was an actor whom I had seen in several different shows. He was probably in his mid 40s, tall and slim, with a brown beard. His most distinctive feature was his accent: strong Louisiana. I spoke to him and we began talking.

I asked him if he remembered the time we had been in a movie together which had been set in Africa during the time of a war. He did remember, and he remembered I had been in the movie with him. During the movie I had been accused of something and had been put on trial. Although I had been filmed in the movie, I recalled that the trial had been real, and that I had been in great danger. Fortunately I had been acquitted. He said he remembered.

Finally he stood to leave and I suddenly recalled I had seen him in a television series once on television. I said, "You were in that show in Key West." I couldn't remember the name of the show, but remembered I had liked it. However it had been canceled. I remembered he had played a man who had come to Key West from Louisiana. He acknowledged he had been on the show, but he said the show hadn't done well. He then turned and left.

I turned my attention to a typewriter sitting in front of me and I began typing out some sentences in German. Among the seven or eight random sentences, I typed, "Sei nicht bose mit mir," and "Sie hat mich nicht verstanden."

As I typed, my first cousin Jimmy walked into the room and stood beside me. He was probably in his mid 30s, and seemed tall and strong. He sat down beside me and looked at the paper in the typewriter. I knew he could read German. Normally I didn't like people reading what I was writing while I was writing,but since I wasn't writing anything important, I didn't let it bother me. I told him I was only writing some sentences to get my mind going. I said I couldn't think of anything to write at the moment, and I was just writing now to get in the mode so maybe something would come. A woman whom I hadn't noticed sitting on the other side of the room spoke up and said she had heard about people doing that – just writing anything to get started.

I mentioned to Jimmy that a person could make a lot of money by writing. As soon as I said that, however, it struck me that making a lot of money wasn't my goal. It seemed as if I might have thought making money was my reason for writing, but I now realized that wasn't it at all. If I wanted money, I could certainly make enough of it elsewhere. I was writing for a completely different reason. If I made money from writing, it would only be a by-product to give me means to write better. I had another objective much more important than money.

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