I was out on the street in Portsmouth, in what seemed like an alley. I slipped past some houses, finally finding myself inside a building in a room which seemed like a classroom. I didn't want to leave the classroom because it was dangerous outside; but I wouldn't be able to stay there. Besides, I needed to go back outside and find some way of getting some money. I stepped back out of the building.

Some black thugs were hanging around nearby. Another black fellow (about 20 years old) walked up and wanted to buy $20 of marijuana from the thugs. I recognized the fellow from somewhere. Although the area was dangerous, he seemed self-assured and confident that no one would bother him. After he had finished buying the marijuana, he walked over to me and spoke with me, finally inviting me to leave with him.

***

I had arrived at the black fellow's home. When we walked in, I was astonished by its elegance. Large rooms with hard wood floors were tastefully decorated. Hundreds of candles were burning in the rooms; the candles had been lit by a servant who worked for the fellow. It appeared that a meal had also been prepared. I felt at ease; I thought I would probably stay there for a while. I was uncertain how the black fellow earned his money, but I vaguely thought his livelihood had something to do with drugs.

***

I was still in the same apartment, but the black fellow was no longer there. The apartment now simply seemed like a place where I was waiting for some other people to arrive. Soon Walls, Buckner, Gannon and a fourth person showed up. The object of our coming together was clear: we were thinking of planning a musical group. Gannon was the leader and most important person; he would decide whether we would actually form the group.

I told Gannon I had recorded some music on cassette which I would like him to hear. As we talked, however, we began focusing on what we really wanted to accomplish with the group. The question was whether we were going to try to play other people's music or whether we were going to try to write original music. Up until now, I had been satisfied with the thought of playing other people's music. Gannon seemed to want to play music in New Orleans, where we would need to play other people's music. But now it occurred to me that our real purpose was to write our own music. We should each work on writing something during the next week, then meet and go over what we had written.

I had the feeling that although there were some doubts, everyone agreed. As we stood in a circle, I began hearing music which someone had apparently turned on. We all acted as if we had musical instruments and were playing along with the music; I acted as if I had an electric guitar. The first song was Jimi Hendrix's "Star Spangled Banner." The second song (although I didn't realize it at the time) sounded like the Carpenters' "On Top of the World." I hummed along with the song, unsure whether I was coming up with some original musical ideas of my own. I was sure I could, if I only concentrated.

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