Three fucking times!"Bryson said."What do you care? You jack off every night," Garrett said with uslaughing."So, do you," Bryson said. "Who here doesn...t jack off?" Not me," Kris laughed."Ain't that the truth," I laughed."Does Matt help you out?" Garrett asked."Fuck no!" Kris said. Kris was drinking and started in on the story aboutCorey and me and our disaster. I did have a few tales of my own to sharealong the way.Our group continued to talk and drink. By now, I had had a few but waswaiting on. Leila's apartment was typically hippy. Beanbags, Che Guevara posters, incense holders, dirty dishes and a stereo consisting of a couple of dayglo-painted guitar amps.The odd guitar lay about and sweet smelling long-hairs and flowery women were arrayed about in various states of doped-out bliss.Leila and I picked our way through the lounge over ashtrays, dishes and prone bodies to the kitchen.A dreadlocked Rhodesian/Zimbabwean girl was cooking up some lentil stew in a large pot. The spicey aroma. More

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