I was at a shrine or cemetery or World War I memorial battlefield--most like a Catholic shrine. A man there about 70, bald with a patch on top of his head. He has fishhooks in his face, about a hundred of them, most showing through with hook on outside. It is a religious persecution or martyrdom. The man tells me he is from Trent, England. I comment on his similarity to American English. The man collects donations and while he talks, a man from the Retreat Center, a pastor, gives him a coin wrapped in paper stuffed in folds of his overalls near one of his knees as he is seated. I determine to give him at least a dollar since I have talked with him and used up some of his time. He tells me about the part he played in RAF and battle of Britain. He was burned and was not expected to live. As he says that, I look at his face and it has pink look of old burns and scars .. fishhooks missing. Since he recovered, he decided to dedicate himself to God and honor dead friends and patriots in the war. A young American walks up and hears the talk of his injuries during the war. He is agitated and almost screams about the injustice of it all. I am not clear what injustice. He is talking too much for me to ask. He is or resembles a follower of Trotsky with T-type beard. I wander off to get my check. It is Friday afternoon and I want to get to bank before it closes. I know where railroad pays--it is at French town. I see art of Jean del Ville I studied last week in symbolist book. I walk in heavy traffic to get there and at an intersection there is a little park of dead grass. A painter at my college is on the grass. I am hot and dusty and have my coat draped over my arm. He grabs the coat and dances around, not giving it back. Very playful. I am not amused and since I find a ball-peen hammer in my hand, I throw it at his dancing feet hard as possible. It hits him on the ankle. Immediately he changes to a thin man about 35 who resembles him in skinny body. He continues to dance with my coat, not wanting to give it back. I pick up a stick like a broken pool cue. It is sharp as a spear where the hardwood split on the grain. But I hit him on the ass as if spanking a child. He gives it back, still laughing. The traffic is worse than ever since tourists leaving France go the same road to airport as I to railroad for my check. I realize railroad and banks open on following Saturday AM. So I quit.