Old Fashioned Green Car  I'm in a parking lot. My brother Wally and others are there. There are two or three old fashioned green cars. They are a rich dark green color, but not shiny or flashy. Painted n the corners of these cars are pink squiggly lines. Someone there says how he or she would like a green car like that. I think they are indicating one without hubcaps. I get in one of the cars, and the keys are under the seat! I start the car. Wally gets in the passenger seat, very surprised that I have the keys. I drive forward a bit and bump into one of the other green cars. The car is difficult to drive at first. I man comes out, and is angry. He asks, "Where'd you get the keys?" I tell him they were under the seat. I start to drive. The man looks at the other green car to see if I scratched it when I bumped into it. He gets into one of the other cars. He seems to be an owner-type guy, like he operates the place with these cars. He is going wherever I am. He doesn't want me to go without him, so he's coming along wherever I go. Two other dark green cars go out besides the one I drive. It is dark out. It's fun to drive. It feels neat, and I am nervous. I'm not going anywhere in particular, its' just that I'm out driving the old car. I'm nervous because I don't want to damage the car. The car is a stick shift. I accelerate quickly, after a bit of driving when I'm used to the car. I can see the old fashioned tires spinning around. I say it won't accelerate as quickly as my truck. I'm then on a bicycle. I cut across the road near a sidewalk where my grade school classmate Beth Tense is. I ride across in front of a turning car, and am close to being hit. Another woman is there. The bicycle seems to not have handlebars. I control the bicycle by shifting my weight or grabbing the frame somehow. It is as if there is a rod or stick that I use to steer, which extends out in front of the bicycle a couple feet. I reach straight down as if I were grabbing onto the frame and grab this steering device. I ride by some people that go to Brimson. My high school classmate Tammy Jostens walks by. We look at each other, knowing that we recognize each other, but don't say hi. I ride on the grass and the boulevard. I ride by people I know but we don't greet each other. I see a sign for Superhighway 200, which seems to be my destination. This may be at or near Brimson. There are racquetball courts with large windows cut out of the sides of them. There are houses there. My classmate from Brimson Kari Kosslyn cries because she is sad when her roommates go by her without talking to her. I say it's sad when that happens.