I was driving around with a friend in a Model T Ford. When we crossed an intersection, a very modern car ran into us and threw us on the side. I remember that the car was intact, and so was my friend, but I had blood on my chest. My friend then took me to a guy who lived in the suburbs. The guy was dressed in black, with an old frock and a white shirt with ruffles (a very old style). He looked very poor. He looked at my chest and said I had fractured six ribs. Then he operated on me. He cut the skin and opened the ribs at the place where they were broken (separating them with a karate chop) and he put a platinum nail on each one of them. He didn't use any anesthesia and yet I didn't feel any pain or discomfort, only a great deal of curiosity. At the end he only took a few coins and said goodbye to us (the operation had been conducted at the door of his home and the lighting came from an old kerosene lamp). My friend (M) and I went walking, but then we came back because I remembered suddenly that I had to ask him if I could breathe hard. When we returned, I realized (he had aged a great deal) that he was a beggar. This surprised me because at the beginning I thought he was a medicine man.