I sat in the park.

Under a pine tree.

I ate Doritos.

I watched police cars go by, with policemen talking on their walkie-talkies.

I met a girl named Persephone who gave me a banana.

I sat there and tried to figure out what to do.

The only thing I could come up with was this: Go to dinner at Bart’s house. 911 North Elm Street. Have him take me to FBI headquarters. Save Berkeley.

It was a stupid plan but I wanted to tell the FBI that my parents were lying criminals.

And I wanted to take my first step just like Steve Fossett did. For him it was the fifty miler. For me, it was dinner at Bart’s house.