Smoke hanging in the air against rugged hillsides. Big Sur, Laurel Canyon, or the summit of The Grapevine.

Next, I'm waiting around at the SF apartment. Picking something up? I go thru a stack of records in the living room but in a perfunctory way and nothing jumps out at me as being especially important. I'm tempted to look in the bedroom (does he still have that Les Paul?) but I don't.

After a while the room is full of half-familiar people and I realize that I am naked. As I gather up my clothes off the floor I make up some excuse as to why I prefer to wait undressed.

Suddenly, I'm in class. A special ed room but I'm a student there. I'm late and all of the students are already seated. When I find my seat I have difficulty taking it because it's legs sink into the floor of white gravel. I fall over backwards. The solution that comes to me is to assemble one of the wheelchairs that are lying in pieces to one side of the room. As I struggle with its complex, elliptical parts I notice that big Daniel Zuniga is there. Stoic as ever but none of his compulsive headbanging. He sits still in a wheelchair with a partial cage restraint, wearing an orange sweatsuit decorated with fine golden sigils.

I'm dressed in a coverall pica suit and arm splints. Sensations of physical smallness. Running away I shout: "I don't belong here! I went to UC Berkeley!"