The first part of this I don't remember all of, but there's one scene that's rather clear. We're out at the Sudberry house. Audrey has invited some people over for dinner, and I'm looking at a strange angle. I'm sort of outside the cabin at Sudberry looking in the front door. I remember looking up at Audrey sitting there looking out at me, and we're talking about either who's coming to the dinner or who is already there and it seems like she's invited one other couple and a president like of some place, a school that she works at only he's not coming now because it's raining or he's sleepy, and there's a very minor tiff there with me saying, "Well now if he's going to do that, then I think I'll do the same." I lost the rest of that. In the next scene I'm at the corner of Nassau St. and Livingston Ave. in New Brunswick except it's not New Brunswick, it's Wellesley in the dream. No, it's Route 9 between Wellesley and Boston. It's like I'm back working at Dana Hall School. It's raining out and it's early in the morning. I'm kind of enjoying being outside. I think I'm early for work or early for something, and I decide to just walk around and enjoy the morning. Then I look down and I have a clipboard and some books and papers and pencil and what looks like some telegram envelopes and a cap, like a postman's cap. I think to myself that people will think that I'm a telegram boy, delivery boy, and I'm not. I'm a teacher at Dana Hall School. Then I think to myself, "But it's a nice morning out, and I'll let the people think what they will." Then I'm walking toward a coffee shop and I think I'm going to buy some. I'm looking around as if I was back for a visit. I haven't been around here for a long time, and I'm looking around. I see this store with envelopes and paper and I think I'll stop down there to see if there is anything I might like to buy. Then as I'm crossing the street, this is the clear part, I drop my hat I think and I slip and fall and there's this car coming straight at me. It wasn't coming very fast, though, and I know it will stop or at least it can stop. I sort of catch the eye of the man who is driving this car, a great big guy, an old man, and I look him right square in the eye as I'm lying down there as if to say you can wait, god damn it. I'm not going to hurry. Finally I get up and brush myself off and walk on. As I get a few further steps down the street, I hear this funny noise like a tire that's hit the side of the curb and here's this guy who's passing another car. His car is so big that it bounced off a curb and it almost ran into the back of this junk wagon being pulled by a horse. I think to myself something like, "Well, that bastard's really in a hurry. Why doesn't he relax?"  The car that the old man was driving was a big square car like my grandfather's 126 Buick.