John Huff's hippie house performance space music store. Trying to get old homework signed. Teacher said he was giving me a better grade than he should at 125. But then it was in his book that it was supposed to be 58 and this was somehow better. Running up and down inside outside looking for papers, but also feeling free and chatting. Climbed up through performance space, knocking over guitars and basses precariously placed. They don't hit the ground, comedic and scary. Talking with Paul Brooks down below. Jumped down onto roof. Old hippie lady holding court. Al kinds of creative artistic people and posers. One Brett Gelman. Telling women he's in love with them and they broke his heart, using Bukowski lines as his own. I told him to stop plagiarizing. Up the stairs to music part. Knock over racks and stacks of CDs hidden door behind them. John keeps meaning to fix it up. Young adults don't know what we are talking about and are generally clueless. Running around naked with a girl who is also naked. She keeps having different messages in blood across her midsection. BLOOD IS EVIL along with a line bifurcation her. I keep telling her to quit being so dramatic. Then she tells me I have blood on me, I tell her she does too. She looks down and disappears. I am happy, but my square sister is there too. I'm trying to find clothes. A bunch behind a tree between the ground and the fence. Put on black and yellow sweater that John had been wearing, but it is mine. Only that's not what I was wearing.