(Hollywood, California)
Some super shit–Stoney and I don’t come down until after three–we crash for a few hours. Then, about seven, we go to Cecil’s Stand for cheeseburgers and fries.
Later we exchange presents–he gives me a jade ring and a petrified wood ashtray in psychedelic colors; I give him a blue rock. Both from Metamorphosis. I wasn’t sure what to buy, but he likes rocks...
After we open our presents, we argue about his being too wild when we play.
He wrestles too goddamned rough sometimes, today getting me into a hammerlock and flipping me on my back. Something snaps–my back hurts like hell.
"You jerk," I say, "You could’ve broken my back."
"Shut up, bitch, stop your squawking."
We exchange more words.
Don’t I have the right not to be injured?
We calm down.
"Let’s not wrestle anymore."
He has an unfair advantage.
"That’s cool," he says.
I think Stoney understands; he apologizes, anyway, promising not to be so rough.
We’ll see.
The two of us look like hell.
I feel like hell.
We go to bed early and make love, and rap about our acid trips.
Weird. I thought we had connected last night, but we didn’t, not really.
We were on separate trips.
Stoney only remembers shooting heroin and balling.
For me, it was so much more.
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