Kathleen, Lael and I were eating in a pub when Officer D*** walked in. We didn’t exactly want him to join us for some reason; I think Kathleen harbored a grudge or something. We were almost done eating and I didn’t want to sit there longer while he ordered something with his friends and we watched them eat just to be polite, perhaps intimidated because, well, they’re cops. So I hid in my napkin. He walked by and tossed a $100 bill on the table for us: my napkin disguise was not clever enough. Damn. But we ended up with an extra $100 bucks, which I pocketed and continued to eat my chips, er, fries.

We were then at a party in the afternoon. We had been split up into eight groups - I was in group eight - to go participate in a battle of the bands-type thing. I went outside and got into a 1930s-ish hot rod, gunmetal gray with black tape making an intriguing pattern on it. Inside was a band that looked like a combination between Interpol and Motorhead. Also sitting in the front seat was Heather H from high school. The seats were white and smooth leather, like Matt’s old car Darlene.

The lead singer/driver informed me that we had to do a Simon and Garfunkel song. Looking at Heather and thinking back at how often the two of us had been compared (we were both pale, smart, and somewhat outspoken — the same boys thought us pretty), I suggested “Bookends.” Then I asked why we had to do a Simon and Garfunkel song. The lead singer/driver suddenly had Art Garfunkel hair — he ran his fingers over (not through — that might loosen it too much) and said, “I do a mean Art Garfunkel.” I asked if anyone had a chicken costume to do Paul Simon. They had decided to do a different song, not “Bookends,” but I don’t remember what.