He saw Zach's sweaty face about ten feet away; a space in the crowd opened up, and Tate saw his friend's smiling face moving up and down with the music. It seemed to Tate that Zach had already been looking his way and he flashed a smile himself. Every once in a while it did Tate good to see a familiar face in the crowd, especially with a good turnout like this one. There had to be close to three hundred people crammed into this old place, barely room to move at times.

Tate knew he was sweating too, he could feel his t-shirt sticking to him. He had danced to the last three songs that, typical of Cosmic Tab, lasted over half an hour. Their forte: the jam song. Infectious, indeed, and quite a workout for the dedicated dancers.

Tate was thinking that it was time for a beer, but he could see that it was going to take some effort to make it to either one of the bars.

He moved in Zach's direction, hoping there would be more room back that way. When he was next to his friend, Tate still had to lean close to yell: beer! He pointed in the direction of the upstairs bar. Zach nodded and he led the way, as people screamed, yelled and whistled enthusiastically. Bodies bumped into them, and they kept pushing their way through, smiling at everybody. Both men recognized other "regulars" at the weekly Wednesday shows, people they didn't necessarily know by name, but shook hands with, or acknowledged with nods and the grins of the "dosed". A gleeful light in the eyes, along with the dilated pupils, spoke more than words could. Tate was content to follow Zach, who was bigger. Let him make the way with his farm-broadened shoulders that popped out of the muscle shirt.

They went up the wide wooden stairs to the upper floor and the balcony that overlooked the stage on one side. It was crowded up here too, noisy. The two bartenders moved back and forth without stopping. They were Wednesday regulars too - Bill and Janet: Bill bulky, muscular, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail, the wide flat nose, slow to grin; Janet thin with long frizzy hair, the constant smile and wide eyes (coke?); both of them pros. Wednesday nights with the Tab playing were good shifts for them.

Tate bought the first round, for they had come up in Zach's truck. The beer came in plastic cups, some of which were already being trod underfoot on the aged floorboards. Once they got the beers, they knew to be careful in turning from the bar or their just purchased drinks might be spilled by another pushing body or careless arm. One didn't want to pay a buck fifty for a beer bath.

The two men stood off to the side of the bar, not far from the balcony, where a little space had opened up. They each took a quick gulp from their cups.

"Man, I'm feeling good tonight," Tate said, a laugh bubbling in his throat.

Zach threw his head back and cackled. His long hair hung loose over his shoulders - a lion's mane. His little round glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, finger smudged as usual.

The two of them had eaten the acid when they arrived in the parking lot, pulling up next to Hardfield's Volkswagen Bug. The three of them had come to the city in that Bug a few times, but Hardfield had a date tonight with a young woman he had gotten to know the previous Wednesday night. He had left for the city that afternoon to visit her before bringing her to the show. He left from Zach's farm, where the three of them had sucked down a few beers and smoked some bongs.

"See if she'll bring along some friends," Zach said, joking.

"I will, if I'm not too busy," Hardfield said, with a lascivious grin, his tongue darting lizard-like over his lips.

Zach and Tate laughed at this and raised their beer cans at him as he raced out of the driveway. Hardfield had sold them each two hits of acid. They had decided not to take any until that night, for Zach had some jobs to do around the farm.

As Zach parked the old green truck, they could see Hardfield standing with his date, Rayna, in a small group of Cosmic Tab fans next to an old brick building. Hardfield gave them a wave, and some of the others, recognizing Zach's truck, grinned at them. It looked like a joint was going around.

That's when they each ate a hit. They got out and joined the group, greeting everybody. The smell of pot was in the air. They could hear the Tab playing already from the bar across the street.

There were two other parking lots nearby, used by office workers during the day, but with plenty of space for the bar patrons now. There were vehicles parked in all of the parking lots: a few vans mixed in with the cars and small trucks, with the side doors open and parties in progress. An old school bus with a multicoloured paint job was at the centre of a large group of people. There were pictures painted on the sides of the bus, some in fine detail, it appeared. The only thing Tate could make out from the other lot was a smiley face and a guitar. He would have to get over there and take a look. They usually made the rounds before the night was over, once the party really kicked in and anybody who needed something for their head had gotten it. Half the people dancing in the bar for the first set would come out to the parking lots to cool off. The music carried fairly well through the side door of the place. And the drinks were cheaper outside.

Tate and Zach had some beers of their own in the back of the truck, locked in Zach's toolbox. Also, under the front seat was a pint of hard stuff that they sampled before going inside.

Hardfield wore his purple tie-dye shirt and a light blue headband that Rayna gave him. One look at his flushed face and dilated pupils and they knew he was tripping his balls off already. So was she, with a big smile showing her bad teeth (the only bad looking thing about her). Her long brown hair had been freshly washed and she wore some wooden beads around her neck. She had on a simple white t-shirt this night (one never knew what Rayna would wear from week to week) and jean cut-offs that would catch the eye of every guy there that night. On her feet, like Hardfield, she had leather sandals on.

Tate couldn't bring himself to wear sandals to the city; he liked his feet covered, protected. And yet it wasn't uncommon to see people walking around barefoot this time of the year, even with the broken glass around. Some of them were too high to care.

One of them was Charles, a Wednesday regular and friend of Rayna's who had no shoes or shirt on as he sat against the brick building, drinking some no doubt potent brew from a large plastic cup. It appeared he had no intention of going inside this week. Why bother, he seemed to say. The party was out here. The parking lot could have been his living room at home, as he coolly toked on a joint, and then made a comment on the Tab's latest album which had just been released. Hardfield had been playing it all week, and they could hear one of the songs playing then from a parked vehicle. The album was growing on them by the day. They would hear live versions this night.

A little, longhaired guy named Randy stopped at their group, high, yet still talking in his quiet way. He had colorful cloth bracelets on his wrists, wore a faded tie-die and torn cut-offs.

Everybody liked Randy, it seemed, or they knew him anyway. He was the man with the acid most weeks and, in conducting business, went from group to group, greeting everybody in his mellow, smiling way, with his gentle handshake.

Rayna gave him a hug this night. He took a hit off the joint.

"How were the shows in Mass. ?" Rayna asked him.

Cosmic Tab had gone on the road for a few shows and Randy had followed them.

"Great," Randy said. "I liked seeing them in a different place for a change. I met some cool people who are supposed to be here tonight. But I haven't seen them yet. I hope they come because they might have something very interesting for me." He shared a smiling look with Rayna.

"Something interesting, eh?" Hardfield said.

"Yes, if it's what I tried last week," Randy said. "Very interesting indeed."

"Well, it sounds like something I might be interested in too," Hardfield said, and he glanced at Tate and Zach. He had bought sheets of acid from Randy, selling the stuff around the university in the southern part of the state.

"A fresh spin on things," Tate said, smiling.

Zach and Tate had gone into the bar during the second set, after they had started getting off, and after they had sucked down a couple beers each. They didn't have very much cash for inside the place.

Now they were upstairs with their first cups, feeling very good indeed. They had moved back into a corner of the room, next to a big open window next to the rear fire escape. Two young women sat on the window ledge, talking. It was one of the only places inside the bar where you could get a breath of fresh air and hear what someone said to you.

The two men smiled at the women, who smiled back, but then went back to talking. It seemed as if neither one of them could talk fast enough. Zach and Tate smiled at each other, seeing the two rapidly moving mouths as something funny.

"You gonna take that second one?" Zach asked Tate, a mischievous grin on his sweaty face.

"I'm thinking about it," Tate said.

"Fuck it, I'm gonna. This is gonna be an all nighter, you know that."

"I never thought otherwise," Tate said. "But I sure would like to get some of that other stuff Randy mentioned."

"I'd be very interested in that."

"We'll find out when we go back out."

"I've been looking for Hardfield," Zach said. "He'll keep us informed."

They both laughed.

"Yeah, Don Juan'll have that Bug rockin' tonight, I guess," Tate said.

They both knew that Hardfield had taken the backseat out of the car and had a little bed of sorts back there.

"He'll give it the old college try," Zach said, and they both laughed again - loud enough so that the two women in the window glanced at them again, and then smiled at each other.

"Let's suck these down and get back out there," Zach said. "I wanna make my way up to the stage."

The Tab had slowed things up with a long blues tune that was one of Tate's particular favourites. The singer - Paul Davis - with his long ponytail behind his puffy, pockmarked face - was the one definite weak spot in the band, but he managed to pull this song off pretty well. Davis was also the bassist. The guitarist - one of the band's biggest assets - was Steve Markham, skinny with long dirty blond hair and a bent bird's beak of a nose (a big snoz all the better to vacuum up those lines with, Tate thought). Then there was a Warren Zevon look-alike on the piano, the rhythm guitarist - a big chunky guy with long curly hair that seemed to bob with a life of its own (Tate couldn't remember his name), and two drummers.

On the blues tune, the piano player, Ray, got to shine with a delicate touch; Davis put a genuine weariness into the vocal; and the drummers got a little rest. Most of the dancers used this time to go to the bars or step outside for some fresh air. Some swayed in place. Tate had followed Zach downstairs, but he stayed back next to one wall to the side of the stage, as Zach moved off into the crowd.

Hearing the weariness in Davis 's voice, Tate figured a lot of it had to do with a musician's life in general. How many times had he sung that song, and the others played it? The same songs night after night. A different bar here or there, but the same kind of crowd. Years of it (Cosmic Tab had been together for about ten years, he had heard), and finally a new album out - their second. Of course, the band's local reputation had been made in their live performances, and there were plenty of bootlegs in circulation.

One night, Tate and Hardfield had gotten into the backstage room between sets, where the band relaxed with friends, family and fans. There was some music playing low (not the bands) and overall it was a subdued atmosphere, with the band members tired and sweaty. They smoked and drank and nodded their heads as chatter went on around them. You saw their real age and weariness under the backstage lights; you saw what the business and lifestyle had taken out of them.

But they still went on (with a little pharmaceutical aid no doubt); and here it was another Wednesday night at Ritchie's Downtown. Tate heard some shouts over by the front door, and he looked to see some excitement going on with the big bruisers, or the "steroid monkeys", as they were called by the Tab fans, guarding the entrance. They were weightlifters and musclemen all, in their tight red, club t-shirts, with their short, styled haircuts in sharp contrast to the hippie-like preference of the Tab fans. At the moment, a couple of them stood outside on the sidewalk, pointing and yelling at someone. There was some yelling in return from some of the Tab fans across the street, cheering it sounded like. Tate had missed something, but he was well aware of the unpopularity of Ritchie's bouncers with the Wednesday night patrons. It was a mutual dislike, and the beefy doormen had been known to use physical intimidation to keep control. Jeering back and forth across the street wasn't uncommon.

The crowd had thinned out a little, and seeing Hardfield coming from the entrance, Tate moved in his direction. Hardfield was laughing when they met up.

"Some guy just ran out of the bar with a bottle," Hardfield explained. "Those monkeys are all pissed off."

 "A bottle?"

"Yeah, grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and screwed."

Tate thought that was indeed funny, and ballsy on the thief's part.

"His name's Henry," Hardfield said. "I know you'd know him if you saw him. He's up here every week."

Tate was sure he'd know the guy by his face, just as he knew many of the other Tab fans. One big, acidiced "family", he thought.

"Where's your friend?" Tate asked.

"She was right behind me." He looked back for her. "You know Rayna. She knows everybody up here."

"She's a popular gal all right." Better hope she goes home in that Bug tonight, he thought; and Hardfield seemed to read his mind.

"Too popular for my liking." He laughed.

"As long as she knows who her sugar daddy is tonight, right?"

"That's right. I didn't drive all the way up here today just to see where her house is."

"I'm sure she's taken a gander at that Simmon's Beauty Rest you have in the back of that thing." They both laughed.

"Well, if all goes according to plan, Rayna's feet'll be thumping the roof of that thing before the nights out."

"Speaking of the fair maiden, here she comes," Tate said.

She was singing the lyrics of the blues tune, and gave Hardfield a warm squeeze. Then she batted the brim of Tate's black cowboy hat - his Wednesday night trademark, with the Cosmic Tab headband. "You going for some beer?" she asked Hardfield.

He nodded his head and smiled at her. They went off to the bar, and Tate moved over next to one of the thick wooden support beams in the place, with names, initials and expletives carved in it. He leaned against this for a few moments, finishing the last of his beer. He spotted Zach talking to Denise, a young university student who had been to a couple of parties at Zach's farm. She was small and on the chunky side, quiet and friendly, a party girl, but never the centre of attention. Tate wondered if his friend had screwed her. Zach had taken a few of the college girls into his bedroom at the farm.

The Tab moved into a Beatles cover and that got the dancers going again, including Tate. The music seemed to go right through him, especially the bass. He sang the chorus with everyone else, laughing he felt so good. He decided right then to make his way to the men's room and take that second hit of acid.

Outside, it was a warm night with no breeze, but there was some relief after being in the bar for the rest of the second set. Tate noticed Ritchie's bouncers pacing the sidewalks at the front and the side of the bar, where an alley could be seen going behind the old brick building. The employees checked behind there every once in a while to see if any illegal activity was going on.

It was a rowdy night for sure; some good acid was going around (Randy's friends had arrived, apparently). The booze and beer was flowing. The smell of pot lingered around just about every group of people in the parking lots.

Tate spotted two city cops on horseback, making the rounds as they usually did on Wednesday nights, though Tate had never seen them in action yet. He had heard a story about them roughing up some people one night when things got nasty, and he didn't doubt it. He could easily believe that things could get out of hand on a hot night here in the city, with plenty of people high and drunk, and the cops short tempered. He had seen evidence of it before with the bouncers.

Tate walked over to the multicoloured school bus - an old, smaller model - where the biggest party was going on. He looked over the artwork on the sides of the bus - a Merry Prankster special. There was a picture of two young lovers holding hands, naked. An underwater scene with different coloured fishes. Astrological signs. A rainbow of course. Musical notes. A wizard with a long white beard and pointed hat. Splashes of all different kinds of colour forming unique combinations. A Grateful Dead tape played from inside the bus. The back windows of the bus were curtained for privacy. A house on wheels, Tate thought. He would have liked to have had a glimpse of the interior to see how it was laid out. A few years before, Tate had ridden on a bus in California - the hippie bus line it was called - in which the regular bus seats had been taken out, and beds and tables put in. He had enjoyed the ride very much, sitting on the couch-beds with people, smoking and drinking (this wasn't Greyhound after all), listening to people play their guitars, and Dead bootlegs.

This bus here belonged to big, heavy woman with long brown hair going halfway down her back, wearing a Rastafarian cap, with a crystal pouch around her neck, a tie-dye shirt, a thin skirt covering her sizable bottom, and leather sandals on her feet. Tate heard several people around her calling her Mama, and she was clearly the leader of this "family". She sat in a chair with several of her younger "sisters" standing around in skirts, some of them barefoot, but all with necklaces and bracelets (on wrists and ankles), some with headbands, and two with little designs painted on their cheeks.

The bus had come from somewhere out west, Tate had heard, and was making its way around the country. They had been to some Dead shows earlier that summer. Somebody must have money to keep the bus going, he thought. No doubt it sucked up the fuel if nothing else.

Tate went in search of Zach, for he wanted one of those beers. In the lot where the truck was parked, another large group sat around in a circle near the brick building. Some of them were laughing at a highly intoxicated drunk from the street who had wandered up to the party with a brown bag in hand. The man had an enormous belly and a half bald head. His jowly face was a boiled red (probably a combination of summer sun and booze). He looked dirty and sweaty in clothes that had been on him for days if not weeks. His baggy jeans had slipped halfway down his ass, and that's what people were laughing about, as the man staggered around, bellowing something at everybody he saw. People shied away from him (the smell was potent) for this wasn't just someone looking for a good time; this was one of the ugliest and most sobering pictures the street could offer up. Even the "hardcore" drunks and druggies in the Tab ranks, like Charles running around wild-eyed with no shirt or shoes, shut up and settled down for a few moments on seeing this man. The sight could have been a mood killer if everybody wasn't so high at that time of the night. As it was, the crack of an ass made light of the situation.

Zach came back to the truck with the same idea Tate had. They both had another shot of the hard stuff, and then popped open beers.

"They're hot tonight, dude," Zach said, meaning the band.

"Yeah, someone slipped something in their drinks tonight."

"Something Cosmic."

Zach left his truck doors open and put a tape in - some Jefferson Airplane. Then, after a look around, he fired up a bowl of weed.

They didn't go in for the last set; they were having too good of a time hanging around outside, going from group to group, vehicle to vehicle. It was obvious that the show inside was going to end way too soon that Wednesday, and that the party would continue on into Thursday morning. It didn't matter to Zach or Tate; they had nothing pressing to get home for that morning. Zach had made sure that the animals had all been fed before they left.

The Tab's show was almost over when something unpleasant happened with the bouncers across the street. There was another disturbance in front of the bar, and three of the bruisers dragged a struggling Tab fan down the sidewalk. The fan was skinny and small, but he struggled fiercely in their grip, shaking his long hair around wildly. Still, he was no match for the three musclemen as they held him off the ground. There was yelling from other Tab fans near the front door, and a couple of the other red shirted employees came out and looked around. They were used to things being rowdy at the end of the night. The end of their night anyway.

The three monkeys, with their struggling prize, turned the corner and carried the man to the back alley, where he was tossed to the ground. Then, in sight of the many people in the parking lot across the small side street, the three men began kicking and punching the Tab fan, who instinctively covered up after fighting for a few moments.

A collective murmur of disapproval and protest went through the crowd, escalating in volume and outrage. The Tab fans, in a big surge of acid and drink fuelled anger, started moving toward the bar, the leaders being people who knew the young man being beaten on. The loud yelling near the place had drawn everyone's attention from the three parking lots, the loud vocal excitement that violence everywhere seems to arouse. Everybody moved toward the bar.

The three bouncers in the mouth of the alley realized they might be in some trouble when they saw the angry crowd moving their way. They gave up on the guy they had and moved quickly down the sidewalk toward the front of the place. Two of their comrades came around the corner then and almost bumped into the other three. There were five of them now and they felt a little better. A little. They made a brief show of facing the angry, yelling people with their big chests out and fists clenched; but then some rocks and a couple of beer cans hit the wall behind them and all of them made for the door.

"You fucking monkeys, leave that man alone!" someone yelled; and by that time a few friends had gotten to the man in the alley. They helped the skinny little man across the street, to loud cheering from the Tab fans. He didn't look seriously hurt.

The bouncers gathered near the door, but stayed there, as there were other angry Tab fans on that side of the building. A couple of the red shirts yelled something back, and one crew cut gave them all the finger.

"You fucking animals!" one woman yelled, and Tate and Zach both laughed at that. The band had been forgotten about, although they still played.

There was more screaming and yelling, and finally the owner of the club, Ritchie Bonano himself, stepped out the door in his pale blue suit, with his ever-present stogy in hand, his greyish-black hair combed back in a wave. He looked around, with his little black moustache twitching like Chaplin's, took a few steps in different directions, impatiently, as if waiting for somebody, tapping stogy ashes on the sidewalk.

"Fire those assholes, Ritchie!" someone yelled.

"No more monkeys!" another yelled.

"He probably called the cops," Tate said to Zach.

The guy who had been worked over had a beer in his hand now, a little smile on his face. A group of people had gathered around him and he started saying something - his side of the story most likely. The cops did come: a couple of cars, and the two on horseback from earlier. Two officers talked to Bonano, who smiled and nodded his black wave vigorously - just a concerned businessman. The Tab fans that had lined the side street now moved back toward their vehicles, as the last of the patrons exited the bar. People hooted, hollered and laughed with satisfaction. The steroid monkeys had been given a message.

"Those fuckers moved their asses, didn't they?" Hardfield said, grinning.

"I wish the band would say something about those guys," a young woman remarked. "Every week they do the same thing."

"Ritchie probably gets those goons through the mob," someone else said.

Then, another disturbance, involving the two cops on horseback. The horses moved around nervously amongst bodies that quickly moved back to make room for the big animals. One cop had his nightstick out, and there were shouts again.

"What the hell?" Zach said, stretching up on his toes to see. The other cop had his stick out now.

"Uh oh, that doesn't look good," Tate said.

Another cop cruiser had pulled up in the parking lot where this new action was happening. Most people were backing away from the disturbance, and they continued to do so when the other cops moved in to break things up.

"They hit Randy," someone said.

"Goddamn pigs!" someone yelled.

"Leave people alone!" from another. Zach moved against the tide, going closer to where the horse riders wielded their sticks. Tate followed behind him.

The cops from the cruiser were pushing people out of the way, threatening them. Through an opening in the crowd, they could see that, indeed, it was little Randy, the psychedelic entrepreneur, at the centre of things, being held by one cop, blood running into his face.

"What the fuck!" Zach exclaimed.

"Goddamit, if it ain't the monkeys it's the cops," Tate said.

"Why pick on that guy?" Zach said, and he was angry now.

Someone ran through the crowd, away from the action, a young guy in tie-dye fleeing, obviously. One of the cops followed him for a short distance, and then got on his radio.

The police backup had already arrived - two more cars. This looked like a bad end to what had been a very good time until then.

The cops started telling people to go back to their cars and go home. Looking over at the bar for a moment, Tate saw the red shirts gathered together at the corner, with the laughing smugness of those who know they are on the stronger side of things. They had the law behind them. Over at the side door, Tate saw Steve Markham and Paul Davis of the Tab, who clearly weren't as enthralled at what they saw. A night of fine musical effort had, alas, come to this.

Randy and someone else had been hauled off by the cops. Many of the Tab fans had driven off, but not all of them, and there was still some anger in the air.

A group of people had gathered around Zach's old green Ford and Hardfield's black Bug. The new Cosmic Tab played on Hardfield's system. The school bus was still parked in the other lot and music still played over there. A few cars were scattered here and there.

Zach had intended to drive out of there, so disgusted was he by the ugly turn the night had taken, but when the cops had driven off, Tate talked him into sticking around for another beer anyway.

Hardfield wasn't in any hurry to leave unless Rayna said something, and she looked as if she still had plenty of energy left - something that delighted Hardfield no doubt. He had shown anger along with the rest of them at first, but now Tate could tell, in the familiar lewd light playing in the eyes, that Hardfield's anticipation had supplanted that. Hardfield never took his eyes off Rayna, no matter who was talking.

Over next to the building, the fat drunk had stirred from his nap next to the piss puddle. He still had his brown bag clutched in his hand. He sat up and took a drink, looking around, confused. The red eyes looked like they hadn't properly focused in some time.

Finally, he got to his feet, turned to the building and took a leak, as everyone pretended to ignore him. The group sat around now on the pavement, tripping, laughing, talking. The overall mood had improved now that the law was gone. It was a warm summer night and everybody was comfortable here in this parking lot in the middle of the city. One thing they didn't have to concern themselves with was mosquitoes. Surprisingly, the law didn't come back around for a couple hours. People from the bus strolled over and joined the group. A bottle of gin went around.

This was the closest he had ever felt to the city, Tate thought, looking around at the old brick buildings surrounding them. This was an older, dirtier part of the city that you didn't see in the tourist brochures and he appreciated that. This place probably had a lot of history to it, and it all led to a cracked, littered, piss stained parking lot - party site for a small group of pumped up mind trippers and drunks. Tate had a brief vision of them being the last survivors in the ruins of an eerily abandoned city; they represented what was left of civilization; and it seemed like a low budget cult movie, he thought with a laugh.

Tate now noticed that the drunk had staggered close to Zach's truck; he appeared to be looking in the open driver side door. Tate nudged Zach.

"Shit, what's he up to?" Zach said. He had been laughing with one of the young women, and this was an annoying interruption. He got up because the drunk had placed his hand on the door - perhaps just for support.

"C'mon now," Zach said in as stern a voice as he could muster. "Why don't you have a seat?"

The heavy, middle-aged man swayed a little as he looked at Zach. He raised his bag to his mouth.

"Yeah, that's it. Have a drink and sit down." He was treating it with some amusement. He moved to guide the man away from the truck, but suddenly the drunk reacted, pulling away violently and sweeping the brown bag in front of him. Zach automatically stepped back, surprised as everyone else.

"Easy," Zach said. "Ee zee."

"What the fuck you want?" the drunk slurred. "Huh? What's up?" He looked around him as if still trying to determine where he was. Zach held his hands up for the drunk to see - he meant no harm. Then he slowly moved to the door of the truck.

"Take it easy," he said.

"Take it easy," the drunk snapped, breathing heavy. "Take it easy."

"What the fuck's goin on?" the drunk muttered, looking down at his scuffed, worn boots, which were untied.

"Drink up," Zach said, smiling. He shut the door. The drunk just stared at him, then turned, making a gesture as if waving Zach away. He walked off a few steps, which was all Zach wanted.

"You gonna give him a ride home, Zach?" someone joked.

"I think he is home," Tate said.

"He probably sleeps over behind Ritchie's," Hardfield said.

"As long as it's not in the back of my truck, I don't care where he sleeps," Zach said, and they all laughed.

As it turned out, they had to roll the drunk away from Hardfield's car, where he had passed out sitting against the front bumper. Someone from the school bus had warned Hardfield not to just pull away.

Tate took the guy's feet; Hardfield had him under the arms; and Zach contributed by pushing the blubbery belly (a separate entity, it seemed) along with his foot. By this time the guy's pants were more than halfway down his ass; the huge belly hung out on the ground. They didn't move him far. A beached whale, Tate thought, as they drove away.

Zach and Tate laughed as they got on the highway, thinking about Hardfield.

"He didn't look too happy about taking all of them home, did he?" Zach said.

"No, I think he thought it would just be him and Rayna in that Bug."

Hardfield had gotten stuck - or that's how he would think of it - giving a couple of Rayna's girlfriends a ride home too. Their ride had left them. How could a good-hearted guy refuse, especially with Rayna smiling up into his face and rubbing his arm with her hand. Looking at Zach and Tate before he drove off, Hardfield had rolled his eyes, and they were still laughing about it.

"Do you think Sarah and Jessica and those girls will come over?" Zach asked.

"That would be interesting, wouldn't it?"

Zach had invited a group of young ladies over for breakfast (farm fresh eggs). They were all college students who lived in town not far from the farm. It seemed that they had thought the idea interesting, though they hadn't committed themselves. Some of them had classes the next day.

Halfway home, Zach pulled the truck off the highway for a piss stop. They stood at the edge of a huge sand pit and looked up at the sky. It was cooler out here away from the city. Zach got the whisky bottle out and they killed that.

"What a night that was," Zach remarked.

"It had a little of everything, didn't it?"

"A little too much of some things. I hope that guy, Randy, isn't in deep shit."

"He could be if he had a lot of that stuff on him."

"I'm sure he did," Zach said. "But I don't understand why they picked on him."

"Who knows?" Tate said. "You don't want to be anywhere near those guys when they start swinging those sticks."

"Yeah, well, let's not think about that. I had a good time up there too. Maybe we'll have some guests for breakfast." He grinned at Tate, and the truck peeled out onto the highway.

Just when the two friends thought that it would be beer, coffee and eggs for two, Sarah, Jessica and Margo showed up, stoned and laughing. They had a couple of stops to make before their arrival, and the two men could smell pot on them when they came into the house.

Zach had a fresh pot of coffee on, a jug of wine chilled in the fridge, beer, nacho chips in one bowl, and some weed in another. His little blue bong was ready for action. Traffic's John Barleycorn played on the stereo.

Sarah and Jessica had not only been to parties at the farm, but Zach said they had visited during the day to see the animals. They enjoyed accompanying Zach on his rounds as he fed the chickens, the rabbits, the sheep and the pigs. "The trippy hippie girls," Hardfield called them.

Sarah blond and blue eyed, pretty, wearing bracelets and crystals, skirts, often barefoot, the bolder of the two. Jessica, also thin (too skinny, one might have said), with dark brown hair, the more serious one, a poet, and with a voice so quiet that she often had to repeat herself. According to Hardfield, he had bedded "the poetess" one night after a party.

"She didn't say anything," he recounted for them. "I was about ready to leave - it's like three in the morning - and she grabs my hand and leads me into a bedroom. The next thing I know she's sitting on the bed, naked, asking me if I'm going to take my clothes off."

They all had a laugh at that one: Jessica, without a smile, going through with this as if it were a business deal. It even caught the stud, Hardfield, by surprise.

Margo they knew the least, though she had made it to some Tab shows on Wednesdays. She didn't stay at the big, three story house where Sarah and Jessica lived with their friends. She'd had a steady boyfriend until recently - a guy they all knew who was a Tab fan - and perhaps that is why she was tagging around with her girlfriends lately.

They saw headlights coming up the driveway.

"Hardfield," Zach said, with a little laugh.

"Must have been an early night," Tate said.

"Is he seeing Rayna now?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know," Zach said, still chuckling.

"We'll have to get the latest instalment," Tate said, popping a beer.

Hardfield came striding through the door with a six-pack in his hand.

"I knew you two would be up," he said to Zach and Tate.

"We invited the ladies for breakfast," Zach said. "We're just going to push it right on through to tomorrow." He laughed, as did the ladies.

"We'll help Zach with his chores," Sarah said.

"Yeah, I want to see the pigs again," Jessica said.

"I know Zeke will be glad to see you," Zach said. "He's an old ladies man from way back." They all laughed, as he referred to his six hundred pound stud pig.

"How's that bong smoking?" Hardfield asked, putting his beer in the fridge.

"This one's got your name on it, captain," Zach said, handing him the bong and lighter.

They would have gotten the story on Rayna if the women weren't there. They could tell that Hardfield wasn't too happy. But there was nothing like a couple one hitters and some cold ones to get him over it.

"I love this tape," Jessica said.

"It's one of my old favourites," Zach said.

"Usually around this time of night too," Tate said.

"That's funny, because I was just thinking the same thing," Zach said.

The bong went around. Another tape went in. They talked about the things that had happened outside Ritchie's Downtown, and what Cosmic Tab songs they particularly liked. The ladies played with Zach's fat black and white cat, Rex, who the guys figured was a stoner too with all the pot smoke he breathed in. Rex certainly acted like a contented and stoned fat cat most of the time, perched on his special thick pillow on the couch. He reminded Tate of Garfield the cartoon cat - his head and size anyway. And maybe his overall demeanour.

Another Thursday dawn came, clear and sunny. Simon the rooster sounded off. They all walked out into the big front yard to the picnic table under the big oak tree, where there were a couple of thick wooden chairs also. Zach's young dog, Bo, the same colour as Rex, raced around the yard.

"I love coming up here," Sarah said. "All these animals around, it's hard not to leave in a good mood."

"I know," Zach said. "They make me laugh all the time. When I took over up here I told my parents I wanted animals. That was the deal. A farm isn't a farm without animals."

Zach's parents lived a couple miles down the road. The farm property had been in the family for years, run by Zach's grandparents at one time. Zach's parents had thought about selling it, but Zach, in between residences at the time, offered to work the place with a view to the future - a family home again perhaps. He had worked at it for three years now and his parents were happy with the progress, though not so happy about the parties that Zach liked to hold on a regular basis. Apparently, word had gotten to them through the neighbours. They checked up on Zach regularly, just to see that the house was still standing, as Zach liked to joke.

As they sat there in a group by the big old tree, stoned and watching the sun come up, Tate suddenly thought, with a laugh, of Zach standing outside his front door with his shotgun, spraying pellets at a noisy flock of birds (swallows or sparrows?) in this very tree. Pretending to be irate because of the pests, but too stoned to keep the smile from his face, he had let off a couple shots, the second aimed higher as the birds flew. High enough that some shot sprayed a neighbouring house down the road, which of course drew some complaints. That same neighbour had complained to the authorities about some of the parties, and also when Zach had burned his fields, as he did every year.

Tate had been with his friend the night the fire department showed up at the farm, as he and Zach stood by the old Ford, with music blaring, watching the flames. Zach had gotten a burn permit from the town hall, but the neighbour's call had alarmed them down at the firehouse. In their haste, thinking that the blaze was out of control, the firemen had knocked down parts of Zach's stonewall along the road and dug up his yard with their trucks. They put the fire out despite Zach having angry words with the chief.

Zach knew who had called the firehouse, and the next night, at about three in the morning, drunk and still angry, he had torn up the neighbour's dirt driveway, doing donuts. "It wasn't a smart thing to do," he said, "but that son of a bitch pissed me off." He laughed.

Well, some time had gone by since then, and Zach's relations with his neighbour had improved. He had actually talked to the man and things had been smoothed over somewhat.

At the moment, Zach told the group of some of his planned projects: the garage needed painting, the big sheep barn needed repairs in some places, fences had to be mended, and then some work had to be done on the roof of the house. He had some busy weeks ahead of him.

"But I like to keep Wednesday nights free," he said, smiling. "And Thursday mornings. This is the farm after all. You can't be in too much of a hurry. Everything gets done in good time."

His lighter flared and the flame touched the end of a joint.

"Those girls love it up here, don't they?" Zach said to Tate and Hardfield as the three of them started through the back pasture toward the house. The sheep had done a good job of keeping the grass low.

They had just come from a place at the rear of the property, where Zach had some pot plants growing. The plants were well concealed in amongst some trees, and were coming along nicely - about thirty of them. It wasn't the first time Zach had grown plants, and he was a little concerned about some copters he had seen flying low in the area. He didn't know if he was just paranoid or not.

"I like all the girls who come up here," Hardfield said. He had already told them of his unsuccessful attempt to bed Rayna the previous night, but he was coming out of his funk.

"They all have their good qualities, don't they?" Zach said, laughing.

"It might be time for you to have one of your parties," Hardfield said.

"I think so. Maybe this weekend."

Off to their left was the huge, dome topped, light blue water tower for the area, with the long ladder up the side. There was a barbed fence around the tank, but there was a place where the fence could be bent upwards, allowing access. On more than one party night, some of Zach's guests had climbed the thing for the impressive view one got of the nearby coastline and the Newport Bridge outlined in its lights. Tate remembered the deep, hollow sound of his footsteps on the metal dome top.

"If Randy isn't in jail still, I'd like to get in touch with him in the next couple days," Hardfield said. "Rayna said she can get a hold of him. I want some of that good 'cid he talked about."

"See if you can get it for this weekend," Zach said. "I'll talk to the girls and tell them to spread the word. We'll get a band playing up here."

Just the thought of it was too good to dwell on at the moment. There were things to do around the place, and elsewhere.

"You guys going to hang out for a while, or do you have plans?" Zach asked.

"I'm going to take a ride over by the school, look up some people," Hardfield said. "I'll probably swing by later."

"Well, I don't have to work today," Tate said, smiling and squinting into the sunlight. "You need a hand doing something?"

"Sure, I can always use a hand up here," Zach said. "I might need a little support after last night." He laughed.

"Well, you got a first class farmhand in Tate," Hardfield said, laughing too.

"First rate Tate," Zach said.

They all laughed, still feeling giddy. For a few moments they watched Bo run around Tank, the big stud ram in the front pasture. The ram was annoyed at this interruption to its late morning meal and kept turning its head slowly to the dog's rapid dashes here and there. There wasn't a creature on the place that was going to catch young Bo when he wanted to run.

"He likes to keep those sheep in line, don't he?" Zach said.

"Tell you what," Tate said. "I'm going to run into town for some cold beer, and I'll be back to see what you're up to. It's going to be too hot to do anything without that."

"Before you go, I'll give you a few bucks," Zach said. "That way I won't have to go down later."

So they had the start of a plan that day. Before Hardfield took off, he handed Zach his Cosmic Tab cassette.

"We'll make the tape later," Zach said.

Back in the house, Zach put the tape in his player, and the first song played out through the open windows at high volume.

"Before we do anything," he said, "let's have an early lunch." He opened the fridge door, leaned down and opened one of the crispers. From under some lettuce he pulled out two cans of beer.