I receive a commission to paint a watercolor for a girl. She wants me to paint a girl pointing a gun at her. She provides me with a large palette with new grass growing on it, and stones that can be scraped for color. My pal T advises me. He has taken a watercolor class recently.
G and I are car camping on a mesa. It is dusk. I watch a large, protractor-shaped spaceship descend and land behind some trees. Soon, a swarm of geology students dressed in white jumpsuits mill around our campsite, gathering large rocks into wheelbarrows. Some of them spill their loads, comically. I pull our canvas curtains closed and hope for some peace and quiet so we can sleep.
I continuously smash flat rocks with my rubbery sledge hammer, forcing an old sailor to tell me about the spirits I am conjuring by doing so.