In filtered afternoon sun, I wander down a grassy, wooded ridge, searching for a remembered pot-patch. Through the grass, I see solitary, slow moving, hooded men carrying staffs. They are part of a secret sect. One who has died is carried past me ritualistically on a litter supported from beneath by chains and bourn by two men. They believe another is also dead. I am chosen to help find him and am given the chains. We enter a small cabin. It is dark inside. Naked girls giggle and entice the monks, many of whom are easy targets for such temptation. The older brethren implore the defectors to read holy books instead. We find the corpse lying on a couch. He rolls off onto the floor, landing on his nose. He stirs. He is only drunk. His new girlfriend comes to revive him.