First of all, I'm in a bookstore, and I see that Tim Eagan has brought out a new collection of Subconscious Stuff. Or so it seems. I look again and see that it's actually a four-volume set -- two diaries, a sketchbook, and a little book of his philosophy. Since I like his comics I buy these books. We're going to a brunch with my family. I need to use the bathroom, so I tell my parents this, and I use their bathroom to take a crap. I read the first entry -- it's a very serious entry all about a 'new direction' in his life. However, he ends the entry with: "Oh well. I'm not as excited as when I first brought these notebooks into the can." The books are hardbound, but they're printed on newsprint. At the beginning is a "picture of Tim Eagan". He looks like an evangelist. A fat laughing guy in a tacky dark-colored suit is next to him in the photo. In the sketchbook, in the very beginning, there is a strange drawing entitled 'me'. This, I supposed, was his cartoon self-portrait. While I'm cleaning up, I hear my mother complaining to my father: "I wish you'd throw them away. I just don't like it when Nick has access to all these pictures of naked women! You never did outgrow dirty pictures..." Sarcastically I mutter something about mothers and I leave the bathroom. I ask if everyone's ready. "David," he says. "the brunch isn't until 1:30 or so." "Wow," says I. "that's a long time." I go into the living room. My dad follows. On the machine are several angry phone calls from Sonja. She calls again and I hear my dad's side of the conversation. She's coming soon, I gather. Eventually she arrives. She looks haggard and disheveled. "I haven't slept for 25 hours," she says.  We go have brunch. It's some kind of big to-do. Tim Eagan is there. I recognize him by his self-portrait. The photo was completely wrong. I tell him I liked his new books. He thanks me. I give a little speech and sing a song, with a music stand for a podium. Everybody compliments me on these -- but everyone seems to feel a need to denigrate the music stand. "Sigh," I think. "It's always something." One such person was a thirtyish, long-haired type. Almost everyone I recognize in town was at this thing -- Jeff G., people from cafes. I go outside for some fresh air, and immediately run into a couple of "professional bums". " 'Ello, Guv'ner!" one says in his cockney. I recognize them and greet them by name, but I can't remember what I called them. I dug in my pockets and gave them all but my quarters -- all my change but those twelve cents. One of them calls my father a 'skinflint'. This last part's unclear. I've gotten a bus pass, an 'All' bus pass, orange, with a big 'A' on it. It's good anywhere, anytime, for any ride, "except route 40". I'm climbing around on some rocks outside the building the 'brunch' was in (incidentally, it's dark as night out), and I'm trying not to smash a big grey spider named 'Max'.