DREAM THREE

I’m on a weekend trip to San Francisco with friends. Pit Pat (my brother) and his then girlfriend, Carole are sitting on an antique couch inside an old guesthouse slash hostel thingy doing their best impressions of zombies. Pit Pat informs me that he just shot his arm full of heroin and I notice that his right arm still bleeds from the needle. He is trying to describe the experience to me as I sit cross-legged on this huge red and gold paisley pillow snacking on Tobies Coconut Crunch Cookies.

Next thing I know, we’re all out in the yard, getting ready to say goodbye to a huge lot of hippie friends. A woman from Chicago is driving an orange van and her lesbian lover is riding shotgun. The driver had somehow managed to secure a popcorn machine to the van door via duct tape and begins driving around in circles as the machine overflows. Popcorn is soon scattered about the lawn in a perfect circle as all the hippies simultaneously throw up their hands and shout and cheer “Ooooh! Popcorn!”