I was in Portsmouth, Ohio, playing a part in a play by Shakespeare. I knew a few of my lines, but not most. Several other actors in the play likewise did not know their lines and we all had written scripts which we were using. For example, if we were sitting at a table, we would lay the script in front of us and read off it. If a person would miss a line, he would be cued from the back. The production was pretty pathetic. I, however, seemed worse than most. Sometimes I did not have any idea what to say. I was upset by my performance. I reflected that I had never even bothered to attend any rehearsals.
My role was not central. The fellow who had the central role resembled Col. Sherman Potter (a character played by Harry Morgan in the television series "M.A.S.H."). He played a king. My character was far down on the list.
When the play ended, no one applauded. Everyone simply stood up and walked out. The audience did not appear dissatisfied -- that was just a normal reaction.
I also left and I went to a second play where I played a role, and then to a third play where I also had a role. When I left the third play, I reflected that I had not acted in a play in years, and now suddenly I had been in three plays all at once. It seemed a little strange.
I wanted to leave the theater and get away from everyone as quickly as possible. Other people were talking with each other, but I did not want to socialize. I walked away from the crowd out onto the street and headed down the street on the east side of the old Williams' shoe factory. When I entered a deserted area, five or six dogs started following me. The dogs were not bothering me, but I thought if they all attacked me at once in this deserted area, I would have a problem. I picked up a stick (about 10 centimeters thick, almost a log) because I could not find anything else. One dog (a collie) walked closer and began somewhat aggressively mouthing my hand. I brandished the stick at him.
A woman who looked intoxicated on alcohol was walking on the street. Her dress was pulled up so high, her black panties were visible. She was a fat, slovenly, old woman. I thought the dogs might attack her. The dogs needed to be taken off the street.
A woman (about 40 years old) on a four-wheeler suddenly came riding across a vacant lot. When she drew closer, I realized she was a police officer. She directed me to fend off the dogs. I started talking with her and told her something should be done with the dogs. I liked dogs and I hated to see dogs picked up, but these dogs were far too aggressive and threatening. She agreed but she did not seem ready to do anything about the dogs at the moment.
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