I Eat Off The Ground  I'm at a gathering that is later a church service. There are several groups of people there. I stand apart from these groups, separate. I'm waiting for something. We seem to be at or near the bus terminal in Auckland, New Zealand. One of the groups is wearing black with navy blue hooded sweatshirts. They seem to be gang-like. My high school classmates Donald Dilson, Todd Warden, and Sonya Nittles are there. I'm at a church service outside in my back yard. My grade school classmate Patrick Bergman is there, as are my friend's parents Elliot and Eleanor Teavor. I stand apart from the others. As I go up for communion I may be eating something: wolfing down the last swallow. I drop the host on the ground. Father Vance Brock is presiding, and he says to me, "We don't eat off the floor in the 20th century." I pick up the host and say, "I do." I eat the host as I walk away. I say it's okay because I remember when Father Vance or someone else told us it's our choice as to whether we pick up a host and eat it or get a new one.