I had returned to Portsmouth for a visit; I decided to pay a call on an old friend, probably Anderson. Arriving at his house, I discovered numerous people there for some kind of party, many of them apparently gathered to witness the marriage of a black couple. It seemed as if my high school classmate Babcock was there. In the rear of the house I came upon the atelier of my friend's brother, who sculpted works of art from metal and pieces of scrap metal. I was impressed to see that his abilities had improved considerably since I had last seen his work. One piece in particular caught my attention; it contained several different pieces of metal on hinges. On one piece were small metal dogs; when the piece was moved on its hinges, it looked as if the dogs went into a doghouse.

Looking at how much work he had done made me wish I would spend my time writing. I was sure I too could create worthwhile works of art if I would only dedicate myself to the writing. Because of that, I rather regretted that with me I had brought a substantial amount of cocaine in a cardboard box with dimensions of about a foot on all sides. I sat down and began showing the cocaine to someone who seemed like my father. He shoveled some out with his hands, managing to spill quite a bit on the floor. I pointed out that cocaine was expensive, and I scrapped up what I could from the floor. I then snorted some, but after failing to feel any effects from it, began to question its potency.

Some other people gathered around; I considered sharing the cocaine with them; but I became apprehensive that someone here might be a policeman and was watching me. So when I had the chance, I slipped away to the wooded hill behind the house. Up in the woods, I realized some other people had been snorting other cocaine at the party, because I had seen some little wooden spoons designed especially for snorting. So maybe it had been all right to have cocaine at the party; but now it was too late and I realized I was being followed by at least two men. Still carrying my box, I began dishing the cocaine out into the air as I ran through the woods. I could probably dispose of it all that way; but I realized traces might still remain on my hands.

***

I was in Portsmouth thinking about what I was going to do all day. I knew the best thing I could do would be to concentrate on writing. But I had a strong urge to smoke some marijuana; I wished I had traded the cocaine I had had for some marijuana. I thought Walls would probably have some marijuana, and if he didn't, he would know where I could find some. Even if we had to search all day, I was sure we would eventually find some.

***

I was riding a bicycle on Sixth Street in Portsmouth, headed toward Walls' house on Jackson Street. A woman and a child were each on bicycles in front of me and were going slow. Finally I passed them just as I was coming to a school crossing where some young girls were standing in the street acting as guards. After passing them, I could hear them playing tag with each other behind me.

As I continued on, I thought I might be able to hire Walls to work in the office for me. He probably didn't make much money – maybe only five dollars and fifty cents an hour. He could do the same thing as anybody else, as long as he would clean up.

When I arrived at Walls' house I went into the living room and waited for him. His mother, Virgie Walls was back in the kitchen. I began working on some kind of game on paper, something like tic tac toe.

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