I drive my old red truck (1979 Bronco) to this muddy field. It's pouring rain. My truck seems all rattly and junky, but then I turn it over to somebody - probably my brother Dave - and watch from above and to the sideline as he takes it over these improbably huge jumps, just flying up and down the field, and I think my truck is cool again.

I walk down to the end of the field where some people are gathered. The puddle gets deeper and deeper until it's up to about my waist. Dave's friends Jack and Kathy are there, and I joke with them about how my rubber boots are doing the opposite job, now keeping out the water (though that doesn't make any sense), but apparently my feet are still dry.

My truck is then waiting for me on the opposite sideline as where I was before, and I wade out of the puddle and go toward it, at the same time checking to see if my wallet got wet, which I had forgotten about, but apparently it's ok. I'm going to take my truck camping or something.