David Dodd 1:48 a.m., May 18
While Isaiah, Tony, Dan and Kyle were searching for me, I was busy tramping around the hills.
Awhile ago I made a, what would humbly be called, a fort. Yes, a grown man, made a fort in the hills.
I was inspired by Acid Man, the shapeshifter who lives in these hills, the seer, the pharaoh, Zarathustra, a man rather feared by many, who can be seen off chance and is burly, coated in some sort of homemade skin oil, who speaks to one through brain waves, with big square black glasses, the dream reader.
So anyways, when I descended back to civilization, I sought my crew.
"dude, you're..." begins Isaiah at seeing my condition, definitely not appropriate for the Fifty-Fiver, nor Penny Lane.
Kyle cuts him off. "Nick! Dude lets go."
They take Kyle's command, and we jump in the sedan.
It's as if Kyle knows I'm no better even if I cleaned up or not, I'll always be dull in conversation anyways.
The Yellow Submarine heads to the alcohol district, across the universe, the wild mystery tour party crashes right into the damn place, we tumble out onto the street, and get our pitcher.