Two Richard Priors  I'm at Pool Park. A person I know from an opposing high school basketball team names Steve is there. He is tossing up baseball-like balls and hitting them with a bat. The balls are reddish-pink. One of the balls is a hard-hit grounder that I skip out of the way of as it races behind me. I give him a warning glance. There are a bunch of guys playing ball. I don't like them, especially one of them. I tell him he better watch it. I am belligerent. The guys are younger than I, maybe 16 or 17, and they are cocky. I get in a fight with one kid. He gets his friend, Cory Bark, who I know from grade school. We fight, those two against me. I beat them up. They are holding fishing poles. The rods cover their faces, so I have to punch around the rods. I go into a nearby house. I beat up six or eight black guys, one by one, as I walk around the house. I make it all the way around the house, back to wear I started. There are two Richard Priors there. I beat them up so I can get out a window. I have to go 400 miles away. The window is locked so I have to go and hit them again to give me enough time to get it open. I walk around the front of the house, which is my house. The window I was trying to get open is the one nearest the telephone in the dining room of my house. There is a black woman coming up the steps. She is the mother of one of the kids I beat up. I get the mail. We go inside. I try to use the phone to call 911 for the hurt guys, even though I don't want to. I do this because the black lady and a family friend, Anna Gates, are there. The phone won't work. I can't shut if off or dial. Finally, it works. I don't want to call because I am the one who did all the damage.