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Dream of: 25 October 1980 "Powder Puff"

Steve Weinstein and a second fellow (who seemed like a combination of Tom Smith, Sam Frowine and Mark Upton), were with me in a car headed to Florida. We stopped at a one-story motel and checked in. We were assigned a room in the back with two beds. It seemed as if most of the time only Weinstein was with me.

The lobby of the motel seemed like a bar and the man in charge at the counter seemed like a bartender from a bar in Portsmouth called "My Uncles." Oysters in the shell were being cracked open and served. I could see the oyster meat. I had never had oysters like that before and I thought they were probably good, but I couldn't afford them. The bartender brought out some beers and gave Weinstein, the other fellow and me one. Weinstein and the other fellow just walked away after they had drunk their beer and they didn't even say thank you.

When we went to our rooms, the third fellow seemed to have disappeared so only Weinstein and I were in the room, which was quite shabby -- Weinstein's bed didn't even have a mattress. We stepped outside the room; Weinstein left, but soon returned with another person. Weinstein had looked rather grimy before, but now he and the other person likewise looked quite dignified.

We left the motel and I asked Weinstein where his backpack was. He said he had left it in the motel. I said if he had left it there, then apparently he wasn't going to go on to Florida. He said no, he was staying at the motel.

We both had some money and apparently Weinstein had his money with him. A couple girls were also with him.

I had some kind of powder puff. I tapped both his cheeks with it and it left a large purple mark on both cheeks. I rubbed it around until his whole face was purple and almost black. I said, "Well, I guess that this is the end then. So I'll just say good-bye."

I walked off. It was snowing. I had my backpack on and I had all types of things attached to the backpack. As I walked away, I thought maybe I should get Weinstein's address so when I made it to Florida, I could write to his parents and they could tell me where he was. Then we could write each other. I started to turn back, but then I thought, "No, I'll just go on. There's no sense in turning back."

I didn't want to stay there. I just wanted to get Weinstein's address and go on. Finally I decided to go back. Weinstein was still staying at the same motel. I knocked on the door.

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