I was preoccupied with organizing some tiny things that had fallen out of my suitcase, coins or buttons, but realized it was useless, there was too much else to do. My parents and brother and I were moving into a one-room house and I could not imagine how we were going to manage it.
I went to look at the closets, which were a whole wing of the house. The closet I wanted had high ceilings and was about 15 feet square and was lined with dozens of photographs from Star Wars, a scene I had never seen before, a battle scene with Jabba the Hutt in which he bared all his hundred fangs right before he died. The guy who put them up said it was his tribute to his father, with a bitter laugh. There were dresses left in the closet, most of them beautiful ball gowns, but one crazy one that didn't make much sense - it was one huge fabric flower and not much cloth around it - it only would have gone down to my crotch - and it was about 6 feet wide, and translucent. I pranced around behind it for a while.
I asked my dad about the tv and vcr in the corner, and he said the owners would be coming to reclaim their stuff in the morning. I thought it was unfair that they hadn't cleared out already, and set to figuring out what I could steal. I looked through the chest of art supplies and was surprised at the high quality of the brushes and so forth - if these people had been able to afford real art supplies, why had they been living in one room? The only thing I stole was a hand-powered drill/screwdriver.
The Scottish man was leaving and he was displeased with something my brother had done. Noah was suddenly about 8 and not really my brother, but for dream purposes that's how I thought of him. The Scottish man said "Give me your hands." and then he pinched my brother's hands at the fleshy part, hard, his huge strong worker's hands, and my brother was stonefaced from trying not to show the pain. He let go and my brother nodded and ran off. My father was watching and was not pleased with this, the two argued and finally my father pushed the Scottish man and he fell down against the wall.
I hadn't said anything, was just watching, but the Scottish man lashed out at me. "Tell your father you have doubts about his moral beliefs! Tell him!" he screamed. It was true; my father was a Man of God and I had issues with parts of his doctrine but at least he understood now was not the time, and he made the Scottish man leave.