Men's Fest  I'm sitting in a place writing my dreams. There is a woman sitting across from me who seems like my former coworker Jenny but she has dark hair. Some of her friends come, sit on my left for a bit, and then leave. They are getting their hair cut. A woman comes and sits on my left, across from the person, who then is Jenny. Jenny introduces the woman and I. Her name is Kari Johnson. I say to Kari, nonchalantly, "Didn't we sit next to each other in 7th grade?" She says that we did. I tell her I had a dream a couple weeks ago about our 7th grade classmate Kelly Furlong. Kari thinks I am dreaming about Kelly because I'm attracted to her. She doesn't understand what a dream means to me.  In this place there is a disagreement and arguing over an accident or a fight: who is guilty, who is to blame? People gather inside the place. There is tension. My friend Kevin Simpson is there and talks about guilt. He doesn't blame himself, which I think is unusual because he's always sacrificing himself. Instead he blames my brother Wally. I think that though the fault lies somewhere, much of this should go blameless. The situation arose because of the circumstances, for which no one is to blame. My friend Stephen Ramos is outside. I go outside to avoid the conflict. I listen through the window, but don't want anyone to know I'm listening. I try to sneak back around front without them knowing I was eavesdropping. Inside there is a small crowd. My dad is there. I imagine a fight. I would support my dad if someone started trouble with him: someone would have to deal with me first, and I consider myself to carry a considerable amount of strength and power. There are two yellow school buses on the corner near the place where we are. One bus is rolling towards the other. Someone yells for me to put a package or a bunch of cheap white razors in a hold on the inside of the front of the moving bus, so when the buses collide they will explode. I run into the bus, put the razors in the hold, and quickly exit the bus. Main Street in Wilmerton is packed with cars. The police arrive, driving their cars on the median. The place we are at seems to be the glass store near McDonalds. I walk west on Main Street. I want to get away so that the police don't question me about the incident. I walk in my underwear. My face is scarred and torn up. Men are crowding the sidewalks and street. This seems to be a Men's Fest. Many of the men are holding a can of beer. There is a man hitting baseballs on the St. Mary's Church field. All the men are supposed to get to do this. They walk across Main Street and traffic stops. There are a few thousand men. I walk through them. I don't want to be a part of Men's Fest. I see pencil drawings on white paper as I walk. Some of these are large. Most of the drawings are of men and women. I know I had a drawing done, but I don't' know with who or where it is now. As I walk the back of my underwear may drop down, exposing my butt. I want to be away, to escape the police. I think of different routes I can take. Cutting through yards is probably the most clandestine route. I think it will be difficult cutting across the Thru Highway out in the open: the police would see me.