Posted by: normanlgreen | November 27, 2011

Dream, November 27, 2011 boulevard car crash


Dream, home, 8:20 am

last dream: I drive along a road reminiscent of the Boulevard in Bellingham. This road differs in that there are two south bound lanes. The scion and I travel in the outside or most easterly lane – there is something of a hurry involved and I feel impatient.  Condominiums stack up the hill to my left.

I see in the right-side mirror that a pair of pickup trucks are being driven slightly faster than I travel, so are about to pass me as we approach an intersection to one of the hill climbing side streets. The first truck, a late 60’s model Dodge with failing cream-colored paint, passes and drifts into my lane at the intersection. I sense that the second truck will follow suit and crush me, so I throw myself out of the car door and roll to my feet so I can see as the first truck stops beside a line of parked cars. My scion, now un-powered, drifts to a stop, just hitting the first truck’s bumper. The second truck, also something of a beater with brush clippings over-filling it’s bed, drifts into the outside lane and slams into the back passenger-side corner of my car, pushing it into the parked cars with a loud screech of metal on metal.

I run to the last vehicle and ask after everyone’s safety – the driver is fine and carries no passenger. The same proves true with the driver of the first truck. The rear bumper of the Scion is okay, just some scarring on the plastic that I would not even bother to fix, but when we push the car free to examine the damage on the driver’s side, we find that for having been pushed into a tall old van, there are scrapes and crush marks from top to bottom and front to back .  Now I am mad and in a hurry to get things settled so I can get to my appointment.

The driver of the front truck picks the rear view mirror off the street and holds it as I make the driver of the second truck walk with me up and down the length of the car, using a black marker to circle the damage he feels he is responsible for. There is some oxidation on some of the trim, so I grant that could not be his fault.

One of them says, “I thought you were going to be nice about this, since you checked to see if I was alright.”

Both of them start poking around in the drawers and cubby holes of my car. One of them pulls out a single dollar bill and a fifty from the ash tray. He holds it up as evidence.

He says, “I though you had no money.”

I answer, “If it is already spoken for, it is not mine.”

The long-haired driver of the second truck finds an old cigarette butt in a little cubby on the passenger side. I ask them what they are looking for.  They shrug.

I breathe heavily into his face and say, “It may not be fresh, but we can agree that I have not been drinking or smoking.”

“Whose is this?” he asks in regard to the butt.

“I don’t know, but I haven’t had one in forty years, so I think I’m going to make it as a non-smoker.”

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