Lying across a seat at the back of a bus, I'm getting head from a small nondescript woman. Wherever we're going it's cross country. I sit up and look around and realize the bus is full of people. Behind me is Cian Nugent and a fat hirsute man dressed only in a pair of purple mesh underwear. This is never going to work.

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Behind Grandma's house near Lover's Point. Someone else is there, maybe Aaron Sheppard. The houses in the neighborhood are larger and more spaced out than I remember. Less trees. In the back yard there is a small cottage that is missing an entire wall so that you can walk right into it. Inside is a lounge chair, a cheap rug and decorations, a shelf full of cosmetics and an old stereo. Fixed income pleasures. The floor is littered with flashy garbage and CDs out of their cases. I can tell that she's just been painting her toenails (blue) although she is nowhere to be seen.

I start to wander away down the side yard to find a place to pee and decide to do it on the wall of the neighbors house. Looking at the wide expanse of tongue and groove boards (the side of the house that faces the water) I realize that it doesn't have any windows, except one that is small and opaque. Suddenly aunt Helen emerges from this house holding an acoustic guitar and announces herself by strumming it once loudly - a strangely mutated Sonny Sharrock-style interval. I look at her hands and she is fretting with one finger pointed down over the top of the neck like John Fahey does at the climax of "Wine And Roses." She smiles at us.

Now I'm behind the house on Crocker and a seemingly endless throng of cross country runners - all Scandinavian girls, tanned and muscular with numbers pinned on their chests - begins streaming around the side of the house and fills up the back yard, totally overwhelming me. As one runs past me I notice that there is a look of determined agony on her face. I open the back door and maybe thirty or so of them flow into the house. I run amongst them up to the front to let them out again. I can see thru the window that the rest of them (what seems like hundreds of girls) are heading back towards the street via the opposite side yard. I need to coordinate with my mother as to how we can get these women to flow right. It's like herding sardines.

"Walls of flesh..." Why not rivers?

Coming back from the mountains and we stop near Toro Park. An affluent neighborhood in the part of California known as The Pastures of Heaven. Peter Hustead is there walking around with the relaxed, self-important air of a Kennedy and somehow I just know that he's murdered the women in his family. Or was it my mom and sister? Intense midday heat.

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In a New Mexican grocery store with Rachel and we see Jamie walking quickly thru the aisles. Shouldn't she be in the bakery? Before we know it she's at our register and is ringing us up. I try to talk to her and be friendly but she keeps her eyes downcast and interacting is difficult because of a strange partition that is between us. Her blonde hair is immaculate.

Next Rachel and I are in another part of town, going into a restaurant that looks as if it was once was an ancient Hacienda. High vaulted ceilings like the Royal Hawaiian but in a traditional stucco color instead of salmon. I walk up to the counter and ask for a piece of foil so I can wrap up the last bit of a burrito that I'm carrying around in my left hand. The girls working there are adorable but become fuzzy and soft-focused the longer I look at them. The effect is like looking at a tenth-generation video tape. Pornography. One of them hands me a thin piece of butcher paper.

Then I walk into a large banquet hall and thru a door that is supposed to lead to the bathrooms. Inside is a series of hallways and strangely laid out empty rooms. A labyrinth. Making my way deeper into the building I'm not aware of the sensation of having to go to the bathroom but I start to shit myself. As it falls from the inside of my pant leg I realize that Joe Hanrahan is there behind me and he starts laughing maniacally as if to say, "now the tables are turned!" I start to run away but I can hear the echoing laughter everywhere I go. As it reaches an even higher register of hysteria I vault over an indoor balcony and drop slowly thru the air, landing in a dried up fountain. Joe shouts after me, "are you all right?" I'm surprised that I wasn't hurt in the fall but I don't respond. There is barely any light on this lower level and it feels like being in a tiny canyon. This building must go on forever.

Stirring...

Now back asleep I see Eliot at a table. He starts to talk about his pessimistic views on life and doing so with a sense of authority that is characteristically flimsy. Drunk again.

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Eating a salad in which there are the cut up pieces of an Armani silk tie.