I was in Chinatown. The weather was bad. It was cold. We were waiting. People were milling around outside. Most were down on their luck. It started to snow very hard. The wind was blowing. I started to walk. A guy in an army coat started to walk with me. We were not talking. We had our hands deep in our coat pockets and our shoulders hunched up in our collars, heads down, walking into the wind. We got to the first hill on Chestnut Street, in front of the Arnold's house. This is where he got off. I kept walking. I was very early or very late for basketball practice. The locker room was empty. Guys in football uniforms were sitting on the floor in the gym lobby where tickets are sold. I was sent to a group home for wayward girls. We were going on a visit to visit the maximum security group home for extra-troubled wayward girls. They were sitting all over the place on platforms and stairs, complaining that they wouldn't let them cook because of the fires they'd started. They were looking for more trouble. It was pointless to try to make conversation so I went to sit at an old piano on a platform amidst the movie theatre (auditorium) seats and began to play to myself. I hadn't noticed until I started playing that some of the keys were broken. I tried to play anyway but it sounded awful. 2 do-gooders--one man, one woman, walked down the center ramp aisle with crazy eyes--drugged on their own sense of self-importance and feeling so good about themselves in a tranquil way when really they were patronizing and condescending and had no idea what was going on. The man recorded my music and was so glad he got a wayward girl on tape and I told them the piano didn't even work. I know we'd never see these 2 again and he only wanted things to appear like they were going good. The lady shot a B/W film strip and it was in a little plastic canister. She was going to show it but I knew it had not been processed anyway. I left before she showed it. I was wearing my most favorite shirts to play in a tree, but then the red shirt bunched up too much over my 2 green shirts and bag so I took it off. It was time to leave the 46 St. No-cooking beach house for extra-troubled wayward girls. Jasmine was going over some letter spacing with me. She found 3 places in a title I'd kerned that she thought were not perfect.