A new apartment. Waiting for phone calls or letters and finding only correspondence to the person who lived there previous (am I subletting?). I open one and read bits, feeling very guilty, seeing that it says not much (the writing reminds me of Annette – look/style), worried that I won’t fit it correctly into the envelope so he won’t know I looked.

Walking on a sunny, dusty road w/R and another guy and my girlfriend (?) and someone. And R has a jar of cocaine which he suggests we sample. My girlfriend tips it to her lips, chokes on the brown-sugary granulation. I wipe the residue, laughing, hold it under her nose so she can inhale it correctly. I do the same, even though it’s mid-day on this sunny, dusty road, even though I know I don’t really want to and certainly don’t want the depression + exhaustion which will follow within ½ hour. Even though we are meeting mom + dad later in the afternoon for something semi-important. I feel the immediate hit. Grind my teeth. Smile. We are going to a very scary horror film which I don’t think I have seen. Later we are in the film: faces jump at us… semi-scary. A boat ride? LIke a haunted house? In another room, I’m laughing w/this girl, and we’re wrestling and I’m on top and I hit her hard. Slapping her face once, twice, three times. The others come through the room. See us. Maybe think we’re playing, maybe know otherwise and tactfully ignore, maybe don’t care, because we’re all still wired and the rules are unclear. I crawl off, breathing hard, nauseated by what I have done. This girl now squats nude, crying, over a doll(?) over another being which it was that perhaps I slapped. (Killed?). The other girl comes back into the room. It becomes apparent that she is, indeed, concerned and a friend of my girlfriend because she says: “Touch her again, I’ll kill you.” Breathing hard, in my infinite shame and horror, I don’t reply.

Someone lost… someone starving…