It is night. Gloria E. knocks on my door to waken me. I get dressed. I am young and handsome and brush my hair in a brash, swept back manner. We are going to a school. I wear no shirt but only jeans and a towel over my chest. I turn back and put on a shirt. Later, Gloria E. gives me the title page from a faded manuscript of poetry. She signs it but makes an error, which she crosses out and signs again. Recollection ends here.