Squirrel On My Back  I'm in a room with others around. My acquaintance Phil Crusan is sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag. I go over and jump on him, shaking him. I drop raisins or black currants from my left hand onto his face. This agitates him, and though I was joking around, I may have crossed the line. It's raining hard outside. I'm on the porch of the Whitman house, which is different. Items are scattered about, messily. A young couple in their mid to late teens are sitting outside next to a tree. The girl comes over, grabs a piece of paper and a pen from the porch, and goes back. I hear her comment on the messy kitchen and the clean rooms inside the house. She means the porch but calls it the kitchen. A squirrel runs up my leg and onto my back, under my shirts! I'm very anxious and scared about this because the squirrel could bite me. I feel it on my back: it is jittery and nervous. I want to get the squirrel off my back. Other people are there. I take my shirts off. The squirrel may leave.