At the beach with Cory Harrison and another boy and another woman - his mom? We were far away from the water, up a grassy hill, could see the waves but not hear them. Cory was describing a player piano but didn't know the name for it. I told him we used to have one, and he was impressed. He said they had one in the House on the Pole, and pointed. I pretended to know what he was talking about, but I was baffled by what looked like a human-sized house, sprouting out of the ocean on a twig-thin pole. I hoped for dolphins.
The others went ahead and I found a ravine full of goths and punks and whatnot. They were laughing and I wanted to know why. I climbed down the slope but there was a stream at the bottom which was deeper and more silty than I'd thought; it pulled my feet down and I got worried and tried to climb back up. A tall thin pale boy and his sullen woman came over to watch me struggle. She was in a tshirt and no pants - her genitals were covered by what looked like a pink rubber feed bag, glued on. A black leather halter around her waist.
Why should we help you?
Mescaline, I whispered. She reached down and grabbed my hand.