I'm in a dress shop, upstairs in an open shopping mall and looking at stuff on sale, particularly a heavy sweater [that's a lot like the ones at Emeralds to Coconuts I looked at Thursday after work]. I hold it up to me in front of a mirror and I think it's likely to be too small, but maybe not. So I try it on over my clothes, and actually it does fit, sort of. Maybe it isn't so great, but okay. By the way, there's bright sunshine outside, the light against the big front windows looks yellow. This sweater is kind of boxy, just hip length on me, and it has two yarn drawstrings around it - I know they're meant to be at the waist, but on me they're in the middle of my stomach. I reflect on how this sweater was meant to look on somebody much smaller than me; it wouldn't look just "okay" - somebody meant it to look really good, I expect, I've got mindtalk - I shouldn't even have this sweater on - I'm too fat - I should be ashamed of myself. I'm on a street, sidewalk, aiming to catch a bus - it'll be coming soon, but I don't have the 25 cents fare, and I've just about got time to dash down the block to this neighborhood bar I've just been in - I know Chris 's in there, he just came in right before I left, he'll have a quarter. The place is [a lot like the Cedar Pub] in an old house, and all very friendly - lots of jolly people, some playing darts, Sunday-afternoon visiting, that sort of thing. I don't see Chris right away, but I go forward and keep looking - there are different rooms - and run into David Rathvon, who is just as pleased as Punch to see me, and makes a big deal. He is roaring drunk (a very unusual state for him) and says, yeah, sure, he has a quarter, come on in here - going around to one of the side-front rooms, where some of his friends are, and he introduces me all around. There's a separate bar-counter in here, and they've got a free "buffet" - which consists of soup (vegetable, I'm sure, reddish in color) and something else in another pot. I figure the object of this is to help calm down the drunks, and somebody does in fact encourage My cousin to have some soup. (It may take 'em a while, from the looks of things.) And he doesn't have a quarter, either, but somebody else offers one and I go on out to make the bus. I'd seen it way down the road when I ran down to the bar, and it's just here now, after I've been inside. [Actually I don't have this clear, but I definitely don't remember missing it.] I'm quite slim, by the way, and I'm wearing a sleeveless yellow flower-print dress, all very spring-y and girlish. I'm not sure I have any shoes on. I've gotten off the bus at some apartments - on my left, they're not new, but quite nice, maybe even elegant. Town-house-y. On my right I see trees, maybe even a park. I'm going to an apartment, I don't know that I live there, but I am at least staying there. A Jeep sort-of-vehicle comes down the street, one of those with sides and trimmings, a removable top. Loretta's in it with a young man, he's driving, he's a lot younger than she is, and very good-looking. Long hair, rather hip but not outrageous. I do think they've got something going on, and I'd like to know more about it. She looks very happy, anyway, and when she sees me, she waves and calls out - they can't stop because of the traffic, and they'll have to drive on a bit and make a U-turn, so they do.