Jack Thigpen's Doll  I'm driving my truck in a desert with nothing or no one around. My roommate Stephen Ramos may be with me. I see my friends Hank Anderson, Norman Noman, and another person walking on the side of the road. I honk the horn and pull into a picnic-like wooden shelter that is there. I shake hands with these guys; it's nice to see them. Hanks asks if he still owes me five dollars. I tell him no: forget about it. His mother drives up my friend Jack Thigpen in a station wagon. She is looking at a road map that has lines drawn around, or to, the Big Resort Area. Jack joins us. He has a tiny baby doll. He leaves it there when he goes away from where we are for a little while.