I was walking along a street in Portsmouth, a street which I had never trod. The street gradually turned into a weedy path, difficult to travel. As I forged along, I thought it strange I had never seen this part of town. I pushed on through the weeds until I reached downtown, where my father stepped up and began walking along with me. Gradually I realized an entire section of downtown had been torn down. The buildings were apparently being demolished so new ones could be erected. I passed one building whose top part had been torn off, exposing the open basement. Some handsome round pieces of lumber, as well as some glass chandeliers were lying in the basement – I thought I might like to have them. It looked as if everything was simply going to be destroyed. I asked my father about it; he said that that even though he thought everything would be destroyed, he doubted I would be allowed to salvage anything.

My father and I walked on to the Gay Street House. We were planning to go camping with John Roach and three other people whom my father knew. My father and I only stayed at the House for a short while, before going to another house where we were going to meet the other people. We arrived at a small white cottage. I walked into the kitchen and sat down. A fellow named Tom soon showed up. When he walked through the door into the kitchen, I stood up, shook his hand and said, "Hello Tom."

My father had told me about Tom before and he had thought the two of us would get along, especially if we went camping together. Tom sat down and the two of us began talking. I had heard he was intelligent and I thought he spoke Spanish. But when I spoke Spanish to him, he always answered in English, and I began to suspect he couldn't understand Spanish. I asked him if he had ever been to Mexico, and I learned he apparently had been to Guatemala a long time ago. I also learned that his family was quite poor, and that he himself was a beggar. He even said that he had begged when he had been in Guatemala, and that people had been nice and given him things there so he had been able to travel around Guatemala without problems. He was probably in his mid 30s. He had a beard and was a slender fellow. It turned out that the cottage where we were was his house.

I didn't care that much for the fellow. I was also becoming impatient because it was growing late, and if we were going to go camping, we needed to leave.

I finally needed to take a leak. I stood up and walked out back. We were in an isolated area, with a creek running behind the house. I walked over to the edge of the creek, pulled down my pants, and began urinating. As I stood looking out over the creek, I saw something floating in it, and realized it was a large crocodile. The house was too far away to holler for anyone else. So I just stood and watched the croc float on down the creek. I finally hollered back that I had seen a crocodile, but no one seemed to hear me.

When I looked farther down the creek, I saw 25-30 people fishing there along the shore. One of them also heard the crocodile, and I heard him shout out that he was going to shoot it in the stomach with a gun which he had. I thought it was terrible that someone was going to shoot the crocodile, especially since it might even be a protected animal. But I knew the mentality of most people was to shoot something like that.

It was already growing dark; I thought how I hated to go camping and arrive in the dark and have to put up a tent. I would probably not even put up the tent, but would probably just sleep in the sleeping bag. I figured these people were never successful when they went camping because they always waited too long – it was important to arrive in the light and set up the tent.

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