Gas Pump Tire  I'm in College Liquor. My professor Marianne Stash is there. I see a group of four or five women, about 25 years old, who aren't particularly attractive. I go up to one in particular who has blond hair, and invite them over to a barbecue that I say we're having. There isn't going to be many people there, I know, and don't say anything. I walk over, they are going down a staircase to a lower level of the store. I write down the address of our house and give it to them. I feel like I may be showing off to Marianne: I'm inviting them over to show her what a "cool" guy I am.  I'm with my friend Kevin Simpson in Australia. We're at a gas station filling up his truck. We're putting gas in his spare tire. He says to just set the latch down on the handle and it will pop up when it's full. I do this but it doesn't work correctly. The tire is full, about to burst, and the pump keeps pumping. Gas starts to come out the other parts of the truck. It spouts out where the radiator cap would be. I stop filling. Kevin disagrees with this and says I should keep filling it up. I ask him if he has a tire pressure gauge. He pulls one out and checks the pressure in the tire. It is 55 pounds per square inch: full! I'm very leery of the tire: I think it will blow up. The women from the liquor store show up in a vehicle. I don't want to see or be around them. They seem to like being around me. I wish I wouldn't have encouraged them in the first place.