I’m in the library. I look for something to checkout; eventually, I decide against checking out anything.
As I leave and turn a corner, I see two teenagers, a white and black boy, steal books from behind the librarians as they help patrons checkout their books. The stealing is going inside to outside, back and forth; it’s all visible because the library has lots of glass in their walls.
Why steal from a public library??
Should I call the police? Yes. I call the police.
They go up the street. I chase after them. A policeman drives up; he knows I made the call.
Two older guys — thin, white, intelligent, college-age men — are walking around the park where the land is level. The are the brains behind the operation. Also involved are a group of small children, innocents.
I confront the black kid. He pulls out a gun. Somehow I manage to get the gun away from him. It turns out the gun is just a bee-bee gun.
Cut to in the school room, perhaps in a church. I talk about the stealing to the students, who are children of various ages.
I explain the two men arraigned it as a social protest of some sort. As I say this, I’m reminded of my own youthful demonstrations and I feel a pang of embarrassed regret at myself.
The black and white kid are in the class! It’s a strange, subtle confrontation with them here.
It’s hard to keep the students’ attentions; so, as much I want to explain the details completely, I try to wrap it up to preserve some semblance of effective communication.
I go to an adjacent interior room to get some object. I find something like a white orb in a small cubby area; I turn off the lights. Wait, there are teachers there, especially an older black lady. Lights back on.
I wake up thinking the Arthurian legend about the sword in the stone is referring to one’s true, scrawny self calling the shots, despite the seeming inappropriateness.