I was in a line to go across a bridge. The bridge was a draw bridge. It began to draw. I, along with four others, arranged our cars facing the sky with the wheels touching some sort of belt that was to hurl us straight up the drawn bridge, where we would wait until it was back down flat. At this point our cars are as big as toasters.
I am having second thoughts. I don't understand how I'm to get back into my small car. I don't understand if my seatbelt will be sufficient. I don't think I can hold on for very long when I'm all the way up there with the birds.
My fellow drivers are not having second thoughts. They're repairing the belt's engine. One sexless person is checking its watch. They seem to be doing things typically associated with unsuspensful waiting. That's all.
I'm walking up the steps. The steps lead further up. In the middle of two flights of stone steps is a relatively flat slab of concrete. The slab's slope is mathematically equal to that of the stairs. In this way, the slab is roughly parallel to the steps.
Eventually, I reach a point where there the slab's slope becomes zero, concievably the top of the, whatever it was. I decide to walk out onto the slab, which immediately begins to incline, in the same way the flat plane of the draw bridge did.
As this begins to occur, I find myself unable to remain grounded. I start sliding down the slab. The slab's slope is beginning to approximate that of the slab contained within the stone stairs. I am sliding down the slab on my feet and butt, realizing that I've a suitcase or briefcase in my hands. Although I recognize this, I decide not to use it as a tool for retarding my speeding descension.
I begin picking up speed. As I do, I speed past my friend Seegs who is wearing windshorts. I decide not to grab his Umbro shorts. There next is a man who has recognized my distress. He lends his hand. I am going too fast. I continue to speed past people walking up the stairs, in the opposite direction. I can sense that they are reacting. I don't know if they're ridiculing or pitying me.
Eventually, I stop.
I'm with my third graders from Allan Elementary. One young girl is in an argument with some others. She tells the other group, "Eat my dick!"
I am terribly upset by this. I don't think she understands what she's said. I take her aside and we talk. I ask her if she knows what the word 'dick' means. She says, 'no.' I tell her that it's a fairly nasty word for 'penis.'
We laugh because, as I explain, her statement is impossible. I tell her that girls don't have 'dicks.' Only boys do.
We both seem satisfied with the progress.