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A plant hanging from the ceiling in front of the sliding glass door window was covered in many spiders, each with bodies no smaller than peanuts. Like a child, I ran upstairs to tell my mom. She asked if the number of spiders on the plant was 103, and then she came downstairs to see the horrific plant. Some of the spiders had bodies the size of matchbox cars. My mom decided that it would be best to quarantine it all in a garbage bag. I quickly realized that there was no easy way to do this. While she was struggling to get the bag on, the plant began falling and breaking into pieces, and I was certain that several giant spiders ran off somewhere in the house.

Josh Kaier came over and offered me what appeared to be some reddish pink perforated blotting paper that contained LSD. We both put a square in our mouths, and it was basically a fruit flavored chewing gum that dissolved away in time. We went into my back yard with plans of entering the forest, but to my disappointment, I did not experience any effect of the drug. Later, at a restaurant, I was sitting across from Josh, and we were eating more of the fruit gum LSD squares. Josh saw that I had two squares left and declared that he was going "to chomp them" for me. I did not care, because I was still not feeling any effect of the drug, except for being unable to read a lot of printed text that kept appearing on the tablecloth right in front of me. The letters were obstructed by many fast moving circles packed together. For a while, Josh became Skulski, and he was laughing while writing down random sentences, almost incoherently, and this was a form of arguing.

I was in what appeared to be a youth hostel in a major city, standing by the crowded bunk beds. I was wearing only a white towel. My bunk bed had a sink, and I was washing my hands. The bunk bed behind me had a shower, and a short brunette girl who was my age came in and started using the shower. She asked if I minded, which I did not. I stayed facing away from her, still washing my hands. The basin of my bunk bed's sink was actually an elaborate art supplies box. I felt odd getting these colorful materials wet in their black nooks of organization. The girl in the shower spoke up behind me, and explained that she would never use this sort of bunk bed shower in any other month. Recognizing this as small talk, I agreed, and then said something about the month of August.