Memoria Page #4

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I saw her dancing, man.

I'd completely f*** her.

Hey.

I'd f*** her too if she wasn't my mom.

What?

Can't say sh*t like that.

Some mother f***ers just cross the line.

All right.

Ivan, I got a big surprise for you.

It's an early birthday present.

Don't bring that sh*t near me, man.

No.

Oh.

Is that gonna fit?

No.

No.

No.

F***.

No way.

No way.

I made it too small.

Smell it.

Damn, Alex.

It looks f***ing nice.

Thank you.

I'll make you one.

Oh.

What's up, man?

Hey, man.

Good.

Shut up, Simon.

You didn't see her dance.

Oh Dickey.

What's up?

What's up, dog?

Yo.

There he is.

Got some sh*t for you guys.

All right.

Oh, sweet.

Some gnarly acid.

Hey.

How much do you want for that?

10 bucks a hit.

All right.

Everyone's got 10?

Oh, sh*t.

That'll do.

Whoa.

Dude!

What the f*** are you doing, man?

Dude.

No.

No.

No.

The whole deal was that

you're driving us tonight.

OK?

So you can't be f***ed up on acid when

you're driving my mom's car.

So you better not f*** it up.

OK?

Man.

F*** you guys.

F*** you.

God!

Sh*t!

F***!

F***!

Chris, what the f***, man?

It's not f***ing funny, dude.

It's my mom's f***ing car.

F***!

F***!

F***!

Sh*t!

F***!

You guys all right?

Hey!

Hey, Max!

Wake the f*** up, man!

Hey.

You all right?

Shut the f*** up.

I don't f***ing know.

Dude, what happened?

I don't f***ing know.

Can someone please just go f***ing check?

Hey dude.

Are you all right?

Your f***ing neck is bleeding.

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

I just hit my head.

What the f*** did we hit'?

I don't, I f***ing don't know.

Can someone please go check?

Did we f***ing hit somebody?

F*** you!

It's not f***ing funny.

We got in a f***ing accident.

Did you take the f***ing acid?

You're f***ing stupid, man.

You could've f***ing killed us.

Oh my god.

What is it?

What?

Oh sh*t!

F***, dude!

Chill out man.

What happened?

F***!

Oh f***!

No.

God dammit, man.

F***!

F***ing idiot, man.

You're so f***ing stupid.

What the f*** is your problem?

The thing isn't f***ing funny.

It's gonna be f***ing freezing.

Not f***ing funny, man.

The f*** is that?

Oh sh*t.

Oh sh*t.

Was that like a deer or something?

Where did it go'?

So what'd your mom say?

I don't know.

I didn't go home last night.

The f***.

Where'd you go?

I went to the car and slept there.

Did you talk to Ivan today?

Nope.

Why?

Just such a f***ing creep, man.

Whole thing last night's so weird.

Yeah.

Going to Byron's thing?

Hell yeah.

We should go together.

All right.

So John Berryman.

He is what is called a confessional poet.

As an assignment, we're gonna something a little

creative next week.

You will all read his poem Dream Song 29

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