July 7th, 1976
Ten minutes til’ one. Arlene has just left to go home. An escort to her car after two hours of good old-fashioned visiting. Drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Smoking joints. Pouring Drambuie in coffee over intense colored stories of sharks and snakes and wild days eating snails in St. Thomas. Dreaming together and bullshitting. Now here I am sitting up alone drinking gin and tonic. Larry in his purest form. Narcotized. Happy. Knowing how I’ll feel in the morning. Also knowing that from this level I could absolve all human worry. Knowing as I write this that it sounds like a pathetic drunk dealing with reality through midnight fog.