Weinstein, Buckner, and I were in Mexico in a car which Weinstein was driving. I was sitting on the passenger side of the front seat and Buckner was directly behind me. We were cruising along lush, green mountain ridges; the lights of houses shone in the background.

Weinstein and I were in the middle of a philosophical discussion. I was expatiating about something and I had a sense of deriving my thoughts from books I had read, especially those of Sigmund Freud.

Weinstein mentioned a man who had associated with the novelist Henry James; I thought Weinstein was referring to Henry David Thoreau, even though I didn't believe Thoreau had been an associate of Henry James. Weinstein seemed to disdain Thoreau. I began to uphold Thoreau, although I had no clear picture of the ideas which I had found in Thoreau's book Walden.

As Weinstein drove on, I managed to lie down on my stomach in the front seat. Weinstein condemned me for my laziness while Buckner reached over from the back seat and began pressing on my back, causing me discomfort.

We arrived at the house of Herbie (a fellow whom I had met in Mexico City). I woke Herbie  up and wanted to speak with him. Herbie said it was 12:08 a.m.

Copyright 2006 by luciddreamer2k@gmail.com