I'm testing my driving skills in the Buick with Laura at night. To see if I can be a bus driver. I dial 481-TIME to learn about the job. I drive very badly, nearly running into things. I park downtown and put things in my backpack in the car. Laura's with me. She digs through the change purse; she's going to get a treat. We walk around downtown (deserted) in the dark like that; it begins to rain. I show Laura how I wear my flannel over my backpack to protect it from rain. Now I'm in a class of some sort, with Mr. W, or somebody like him. The firebell rings and we all run outside. I pause a few minutes to select the writing tablet with the most paper to bring with me. Outside, the teacher gives a lecture on how to prepare the minimum writing supplies for use in fires and earthquakes. I don't listen to him. I think he's a fucker. Back downtown where I left off with Laura, I put my backpack in the back seat of the Buick as it starts to rain harder, and get in the driver's seat. I pull out onto West street and nearly hit a car in front of me; I swerve and go through the intersection. I can't find the brake fast enough to stop before the intersection at Main, so I glide through, find the brake, and pull the car to a halt at the left turn signal. Laura says: "God, David, you need practice."  It is still downtown, still night, still raining. Laura is standing outside a building of some sort. It looks like a large rectangular metal vault set on concrete. I think it was supposed to be a bank. Laura might be naked, I'm not sure, but she's definitely shirtless. She has her arms crossed under her breasts, squeezing them up. They look very full and uncomfortable for her. She's waiting for me. All through this I keep thinking of J.B. Priestly. The name and the effect of his book I just read [Man and Time] hang in the background of everything, coloring every action but not changing them. It's hard to describe. I later dreamed of a Monty Python-looking guy in Elizabethan dress who announced that they're taking the POMP out of pompousness, leaving nothing but ousness.