In the next part of the dream, I was at home, fixing something about my car, without any pants on. There was a loud pop I didn't know what was. I decided to get the car into the garage, so I pulled it up, went inside, and hit the button to close the garage door (it was the old garage door that spanned the whole front of the garage; we never put any cars in it anyway, so Pa had it converted into a half-width garage door and a normal wall with a people-door). While it was closing, I looked and realized the car wasn't even nearly in all the way, so I hit the button a few times to open the door back up before . By this time (perhaps earlier) I had noticed the man across the street (also in the across-the-street neighbor's garage which has since been converted into some room or other by the replacement of the garage door with a wall), who was black. African, actually, though I just know that--he was wearing normal clothes, as opposed to stereotypical African garb. There was a loud pop, and when I looked again my car had been blown back out of the garage and in front of the house--not even in the driveway--as if by a cartoony burst of the tires. (I've been meaning for quite a while to check tire pressure since I've been neglecting that.) The man starts walking over, very calmly, but I know (I don't think I actually quite see) that starting to follow him out of the garage are several black kids--like Sarah's son from Odyssey 5 age kids--with guns. And they're going to shoot me. So I close the garage, rush inside, lock the doors I can lock, and hide in the bathroom, hoping there are enough walls between me and them. The end.
So, I'm not happy I had an apparently racist dream, but there it is. I guess maybe I shouldn't've watched 9/11 on DVD yesterday.