• I'm at my friend's cabin, deep in the Siskiyou wilderness near Yreka, California. We've run out of bud and I let some people borrow my car to make a run for some more. Halfway out the driveway, I'm waving them goodbye when the car rolls over on top of me and sprains my leg. I hobble back to the house and into the kitchen. Suddenly my hands and forearms are infested with pea-sized warts that crawl all over my skin like tiny, evil moles scampering around below the surface. I am in excrutiating pain and can only be relieved by holding my tortured flesh under running cold water. Leslie, my friend's kind mother, looks over my shoulder at my condition and remarks, "Looks like you caught the herpes. Can I get you some ice cream?"