Stephen King. Almost like a Buick (№ 352630)

Do I think the "Buick Roadmaster" that stood behind the gate, when I was sitting next to a crying kid and awkwardly went to hug him? I do not know. Maybe, I thought, but I'm not sure that we ourselves know all of our thoughts. Freud, of course, was imagining a lot of bullshit, but this, perhaps, was not wrong. I don't know anything about the subconscious, but in my head each have a pulse, it is exactly the same as in the breast, and the pulse of this bears irregular words do not Express thoughts, most of which we cannot even understand, though it is usually important ideas.