On a farm again

It's all very fragmented, but I was with Brad, my roommate, and we were checking out of a hotel, which was also an airport. It had a circular drive with a conveyer system that ran the length of it's curb. It was crazy busy with people pulling their cars up and checking in / receiving bags. I pulled in driving Brad's large white SUV and went inside to collect my large suitcase. I figured we could come back for our golf clubs. I remember jumping into the back of the SUV and I was amazed at how big it was back there! Behind the back seats, where the storage area is, it was at least six feet long! I considered how great it would be to have this for driving back and forth to Michigan.

Then I met with Brad and we had to go retrieve our clubs. He was driving agressively into the receiving area. I was getting nervous. I told him I just parked and walked in. He said that was silly, and that we only had to pull up to an open slot at the conveyour and hand them our ticket. Which is what we did. It seemed to work okay, but it was frustrating none the less.

Next we were at our 'house'. Which was on a farm somewhere in rural Indiana or Michigan. I recall thinking we were only a couple hours from my dad's house. Brad was morphing with my old roommate Gary, from college. We were sitting in the old farm house, somewhat settled in, Brad was watching TV. There was an older woman there as well. She was kind of like an assistant. She was there to help us settle in and get to know the house and the town. A local woman.

Just then, I heard something from upstairs. A distinct sound. I check on Brad, asked if he heard it. He did, but had no interest or concern. I became furious about the fact that someone or something was upstairs. I grabbed a flash light and yelled up something to the effect of, "I am going to count to 10, if you don't come down, I am going to come up and kill you!"

I started counting. "10! 9! 8! 7!" I did not have a gun, so it was really a false threat. I really did not know what I was going to do.

"6! 5! 4!" Nothing yet. Then I did have a gun. A shotgun. It seemed old, and I had no idea if it would work at all.

"3! 2!" Then someone started comming down the stairs. He had a ski mask on, or a nylon sock, or something. Maybe a bag. Right away, I could tell he had a simple mind. But that did not make him any less of a threat. Right away he pulled a gun on me, which I quickly took away. I started to club him and then pistol whip him with his own gun. The woman pleaded with me to show him mercy.

I wrestled with that idea, knowing as long as he was alive that I could be in danger. Just then, he managed another gun from his boot. I hit him again and took the gun. It was a small Derringer styled gun. It did not even look like it would really work. The woman pleaded again. I yelled at the man. I told him it was his lucky day.

He was a local man. She knew him. Not personally, but she knew who he was. He had some mental disorder and led a troubled life. I took mercy on him. Well, until he then went for a knife he pulled from his boot and he started flailing at me. It was barely a knife. More like a long rusted piece of metal. She insisted and pleaded for me to still let him go. I think I did, but I can not fully recollect.

Then Brad and I got to discussing living out here. I said I might buy a motorcycle. An enduro bike. It gets awfully muddy and it would be good for getting around quickly. Brad decided he would look for an old ford mustang. He said he wanted a 389 or a 440 (or some other size I knew ford never made). Then he added that the displacement represted the modifications he would like to see. I suggested he focus on just the year and body condition, then he might have better luck finding one. He shrugged. I noted that I could head to my dad's over the next weekend. My tools were there.