Catawba Falls: campsite 124. A sign nailed to a pine read many rare plants. Do not trample. Susan asked ready to unpack? Although the river was tame enough to swim, we boated. Don insisted on building a fire, sent Anthony trotting off into the woods for kindling. At the picnic table, Susan chopped an onion for chili. I boiled a pot of water on a Bunsen burner. Dinner dishes finished, Don laced his hiking boots be back in a minute. Susan opened her mouth then shut it again; dealt a game of conquian. When Don returned, he was not alone. Three boys, two girls. Site 136. The girl with braids lit a cigarette: he said you had a bon-fire. One by one, the boys hugged my shoulders, grabbed a beer from the cooler we’re from Cali-for-nia.

Gathered around the fire, we peeled tangerines, talked about the Grand Canyon. Don’s shadow stretched to the edge of the woods: you never? Astonished, he stared out at me aw honey. The girl in the leather vest stretched her arms wider and wider like this. The boys nodded in agreement. Four beers later, the girl in the leather vest detailed her first acid trip. Don laughed kitten, when I did—. She blinked in the moonlight what’s that? Before answering, he eyed Anthony: like acid but a little more intense. Don ploughed on: when I was with the Melon Group. One of the boys asked how much land? Pulling her hair into a ponytail, Susan said enough. The girl in the leather vest asked: were you wild in love? Susan flushed. As always Don remained ad libitum: monogamy is inherently a matter of mine. Everyone leaned closer. We believe in sharing. He lit another joint; eyes already threaded with blood: am I right or am I right? The boys shook their head yes. Susan nodded, almost mockingly at first, then, sincerely—continued to nod even after the others had stopped; her head bobbing above the smoke.