I was having a duel with some young teenage hood and apparently I was one myself. We both had pistols and I think a couple of kinds of pistols. One was a little 22 and the other one was something bigger - I don't know what. My pistol wouldn't work right. I knew that his would if he ever got a chance to fire it at me. He probably would kill me, but mine wouldn't work. As a matter of fact, I held it right up next to him and the bullets, I held it right up to his back and shot the whole 22, well the whole 6 shots, into his back and they only made these tiny little places and the bullet didn't go in. They just disappeared or something. Then it got very involved and complex because somebody had sent one of these pistols to the professor who teaches my Greek drama course. He was talking about it being some sort of strange Greek ritual, that there was a procession in which this should be carried. Of course, that's interesting because it would be a phallic symbol and he was talking about how the phallus is carried in, in my course. Anyway, he was talking about the procession in which this is going to be carried and I was afraid that I was going to be killed in the first place. I was afraid I was going to be arrested. I knew they were out looking for me, all these people were, so I went down off the road down the bank, this steep hill that was covered with quite a few trees. It wasn't real heavily wooded and there were stones sort of arranged like steps and down sort of forming a sign of the Z on the side of the hill. There was a shelter over the central part of it. A wooden shelter and I was going down under that and all these people were running around looking for me, but they didn't would have done anything like this, so they didn't stop me.