Inchoherency. I'm in a motel in town. Brad and Kathleen are in the room, which is filled with many huge bags of cheap books. I'm at the desk, writing my book. I set down the pen and go out; it starts to rain. I explain the ocean while watching the actions of a beautiful vain brunette woman on a bicycle, who later poses before the mirror admiring her own body. Sometimes she wears sweats, sometimes wears a leather thong and nothing else. Phenomenal legs. Many many months pass. A bar that everybody went into, and never came out of. Jimmy, Brad, other friends come and go. I was writing an autobiography. Water running hard through gutter. Trying to jump and grab rafters at end.