Another Angry John Dream

This kinda came out of left field. . . I haven't seen John in a couple of weeks, so he's had no opportunity to get mad at me.

Sweat was pouring down my face and back. It had to be eight hundred degrees outside and I smelled like the line outside an old Greek bath house on a particularly crowded day, i just knew it. And yet, i spared no effort as i shoved the lawn mower across the yard in intricate patterns. As my sense of dread grew, so did the complexity of the patterns i made with the mower. . . hordes of MLB groundskeepers should have been clamoring at my door to hire me! I'd been mowing for days, and the end was no where in sight.

But it wasn't good enough. I could hear the beast roaring in the distance, closing fast. I didn't think it was possible to push the mower any faster, but i found a reserve of energy in me somewhere and began mowing at a dead run. I hazarded a glance over my shoulder, and there it was. It was a white Ford F-250, but somehow this one seemed to be as tall as a building. The chrome grill flashed like the mouth of a great beast, blinding me for just a moment. The truck stood up on tractor-sized wheels. It occurred to me that if he wanted to run me over, all i had to do was stand still and duck a little bit, and he'd pass right over me. Somehow that brought no comfort. I knew John was in that truck, but i couldn't see him through the glare coming off the windshield. No matter, he made his presence known. He hung out of his window and began shouting into a bullhorn:

"YOU THINK I'M PAYING YOU FOR THIS SHIT?! IT'S TAKEN YOU THREE DAYS TO DO A JOB THAT SHOULD'VE TAKEN YOU THREE HOURS! THE LINES ARE CROOKED AND BORING! DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT GAS IS COSTING ME?!"

Frantically i ran, trying to finish up the lawn, but it seemed to be growing faster than i could cut it. I knew if the grass got much higher, i wouldn't be able to see to complete the pattern i'd started, and then i'd REALLY be in a world of pain. I could feel the heat from the grill singing the hair on my neck. Sweat was no longer pouring off of me, the heat from the truck evaporated it as soon as it peeked out of my pores. Soon i'd be out of sweat, and the greedy truck would start sucking out my life force. All the while, the bullhorn was blaring. I ceased being able to make out individual words, it was just a loud blare reverberating off the insides of my skull, gaining volume as they travelled. Soon, all i could feel was my hands aching from the vibrations of the mower, the heat and the sound vibrations, trying to dig themselves out of my head via pickaxe.

Suddenly, i was out of the grass. The mowing was finished, but the yard was a mess from where John had been driving on it. He jumped down out of the truck and surveyed my work. He seemed not to notice the mess he'd made of his lawn. He looked at his watch and then at me. I was standing there, propping myself up on the lawn mower and sucking in air. "You're sweating on my mower," he said to me. I flinched. I knew that was going to cost me too.