Charlie didn’t get any sleep last night. After I went to bed, I could still here him talking to himself in the dining room. This morning there’s a mountain of crumpled paper on the table and Charlie is no where to be found. I uncrumple a few of the pages and see lots of squiggly lines and arrows. I turn them upside down and sideways to see if I can find a thread of rational thought anywhere. Sure enough ..I found one. It seems to suggest a conspiracy: space aliens are in control of the U.S government and setting crude oil prices to ensure supplies for their own planet. I’m afraid that Charlie is in the hyper phase of his bipolar cycle. I drive down to the wharf looking in all the places he usually hangs out. I find him walking down the center of highway 101 ..without any clothes. I pull up beside him and yell: “Hey you crazy Gaijun, wuz happinin ..?” He says he overheated somewhere back on Haley Street. I say: “Yea ..there’s an offshore flow ..mucho caliente ..but hey, kick-ass conditions on the coast.” He gets in and I drive to Arroyo Burro beach where he won’t look so conspicuous (because it’s a nude beach). We get out and I follow his line of crazy hyper-chat down to the water ..and throw him in.
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