Abe tracks to Sandy’s place, still feeling high. Into the endless party, and for once he’s in sync with the prevailing mood. There’s been a headline in the Los Angeles Times that morning:

DEA DECLARES ORANGE COUNTY

“DRUG CAPITAL OF THE WORLD”

and Sandy has therefore declared the day a local holiday. He and Angela have gone all out to decorate the ap, with balloons, ribbons, confetti, streamers, noisemakers, and big strips of paper that have the headline reproduced on them in various spectrum bends. Samples of every recreational drug known to science are on hand and in action, Sandy is in the kitchen singing along with the blender as it grinds up quantities of ice cream, chocolate sauce, milk, and, well, Abe isn’t too sure what else, but he has his suspicions. “Rnn rnn rnn, rnn rnn rnn!” Sandy sings, and grabs the blender from its base. He pours the frothy milkshakes into tall plastic glasses, handing them to whoever gets a hand out first, “Hey, drink this! Try this!” His pupils are flinching just inside the blue rims of the irises as he sees Abe and hands him a glass. Cold in the hand. Sandy uses the blender itself to clink a toast. “To the day’s work!” with that Sandy grin blazing at San Onofre–level megawatts. Now how did he know that his toast would be appropriate on this night of all nights? Another drug mystery. Abe drinks deep. No taste but chocolate, though it’s maybe a bit chunky. What might it be? He’ll soon find out. Best to establish a transitional period by lidding as much as possible.

A lot of people are already pretty stoned, they’ve got eyes like black holes and their mouths are stretched wide like they’re trying to do imitations of Sandy’s ordinary smile, they’re grinding their teeth and giggling a little and staring around like the walls have sprouted fantastic morphological formulations out of the usual condo cottage cheese ceilings, say, is that, could that be a, a stalactite there? Abe can only laugh. But Sandy splutters with dismay. “No zoning out here, this is a celebration, get on your feet!” People stare at him like he’s maybe part of the ceiling’s deformations. “Uh-oh. Jim! Jim! Jim—put something inspiring on the CD.”