So after the Changing Channel shows (comedy troupe of creative younger-than-me's who performed at Level 5 in downtown wilmington's old masonic building) , those of us "with the band" would head on down to level two (I named it) after partaking in the rooftop balcony's drinkings.
We would go there to smoke weed and listen to music and hang out. It was changing channel's practice space. For a while, it was the Thursday night ritual. I'm not sure what my part in making it happen was, but many have considered me the life (and sometimes - yes - the death) of the party.
One memory was the Pink song being played. Sandy, Bonnie Butler, Coco, and I started dancing. The rhythm got us. I hardly ever do my real dancing in public, but the inhibitions stayed at bay this night. I was with people that I had mostly known a long time. I was faded. I was happy and felt loved.
There was a time when Sam told me that I was the only person in the room that didn't annoy the shit out of him.
Good times. Good times.
My boss returned from 'nam. Although he really doesn't chat with me that much, I did overhear him on the phone describing his trip. His friend has an orphanage over there. Upon seeing the conditions on a vacation he took, he sold his house and liquidated all assets and opened an orphanage where no one will ever get adopted.
Trek (my boss) said it was horrific. People, young old and all of them, dig through the trash to survive. One ten year old boy had survived five years on eating trash. When the dump trucks come, they are swarmed by human beings striving for a bite and for stuff. Trek said that no one in LA that he knows can ever complain to him anymore. They have health, beauty, and $80,000 cars. So they don't have fulfillment and love. There are people digging through trash - lots of people.
I was very happy today. I have put it in perspective.