My father invites me to fly in a hot air balloon. My mother is upset. Before I know it, I am speeding down rt. 77 in my car behind a fire truck. It sets itself on fire, then puts itself out by squirting water from inside. My father is and ins't in the car with me. He is driving and so am I. He reminds me not to drive so fast.
We meet his friends on the side of the road in front of an old house. There's a man and a woman. We show each other slips of paper that officially state our worth. We smile gently at one another. I don't bother to look at my father's paper but am oddly interested in his friends'. The woman wants to take a photo of us before we leave in the balloon. My father and I smile and shake hands.
After the woman takes the photo, I place a small red plastic chair by a nearby shed. I face it toward the dark woods and say, "That was a PR shot."
