I'm in some western town. It seems that the west is still full of cowboy types, but they're more beatniks now and instead of bucking broncos, the latest fad is flying. I can see these guys flying around and it's like they have bicycles, but some way of balancing them so that they can come down and maneuver various ways with their arms. I don't see the bicycle though. One of them, he's sort of gliding around and then he very, very softly lands in a net that he apparently has laid out between some telephone wires. It seems like Audrey and I are visiting this place and it's temporary. She's got some kind of a new, not a contour sheet, but a contour bedspread, and I'm helping her put this thing on, and she's saying, "Watch you don't break it or stretch it too much." This all seems to be one place and then I'm out in this town again, sort of like a farmyard, or a farm town. It's strange because it's so modern. It has all these flying things and yet the john is an outdoor john. The bathroom is outside, and I want to go to the bathroom, so I go and open the door and the first thing my eyes focus on two urinals off in the corner, dirty as hell, and there are bugs, what look like bugs crawling all around in front of them and I say to myself, "The hell with this." This all takes place in a split second. Before I can even turn around, a bat comes flying out and brushes my head as he goes by. I think that's when I woke up. I said I don't think I want to sleep anymore. It's like it was in the recent past in California, but Audrey was with me, but she wasn't there, and also the feeling is the feeling that I have here. That it's very temporary now, and I won't be here too long. It's part of the dream. Audrey was going to paint the walls some color, and I thought that was a good idea, but now it seemed like half the stay was already gone and she hadn't done it yet, so I figured, "Well, no sense doing it." The hotel room was like the one in Paris. The reason all these folk singers were gathered in this one town it turned out was that was a place where someone had discovered like a whole stock of folk songs. It's like it was the Comstock Lode of folk singing. It was really like there was a mine somewhere. There was a sign pointing to it. It wasn't a mine. It was a place where a lot of folk songs had been written. There's almost something magical about it, like all these kids were here on a pilgrimage.