 
I dreamt last night I was watching an environmental public service announcement. A middle-aged man was driving a T bucket hot rod down the highway. He had crooked, yellow teeth and short mop-style gray hair like Timothy Leary had. The man was laughing as he accelerated and gray exhaust rose above the front end of the car. The smoke cleared when he wasn't accelerating.
I ended up in the living room of this man. He came home from work dressed in slacks and a blue dress shirt. No tie. His hair was combed and he looked respectable. He said he had to do something outside and grabbed a black marker. I joined him outside. He took the black marker and started drawing on all of the tiny, two-inch square panes of glass. I helped him. He said he wanted the neighbors to think he was asleep while he was gone. There was a two-foot swath of two-inch squares around the outside of his bedroom in the lower part of the house about eye-level. Below, there were eight or so five-inch panes of slightly different colors asymmetrically placed in the wall. After we had finished drawing on all of the panes we went back to the living room.
There were several amateur reporters waiting for us. One of them protested that he had waited long enough and he was going to go. Our host said, "I'll show you something that rocks. Do you want to see it?". Everybody said yes and followed him out to the back yard. The back yard was a huge, open pit the size of a football stadium. We walked down a trail towards a car at the bottom. As we got closer I shouted, "Hey, a hundred inch wheelbase American!" I noticed that it was actually marked as a Nash Rambler, but it had side fins like a 61-63. The car was buried up to the sills. I looked in the engine compartment and exclaimed that it had an overhead valve engine. The paint on the engine was good, but the engine was half buried.
We followed our host to the edge of the bottom of the pit, where there was a tunnel. We went in the tunnel and it opened up into a cave that had other old, large car parts, mostly whole cars. We climbed up through another passage that went through a large tree. There were knotty stairs carved into the inside of the tree, combined with roots. There was enough room in the tree to provide space for other car parts. We emerged into another huge cavern. There was an old red Rambler wagon. The body was in fairly good shape. There was some rust, but no perforation. One of the reporters laid down in the back of the wagon and said, "Hey, this isn't in too bad of shape." The reporter was my son.
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