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By Eric Bogosian

June 06, 2000 | We were hiking I guess. Along this stream that cuts through this part of the New Hampshire hills. Water's probably flowed here for thousands of years, maybe millions. All I know is that the stream is banked with sand and lots of little round stones about the size of cherries. I said, "Why don't we stop and just take it all in?" So we did. I pulled out a joint and lit it. She took a little toke, but she never really liked pot. I did. I liked it a lot. The sunshine turned into this warm invisible syrup flowing over me. And then I smelled her. She was always so clean. Her skin and her hair were like something you could eat. I was suddenly so stoned and I looked over at her and she was giving me one of those hippie smiles that said, come on, finish the joint and let's snuggle and kiss. I pushed the joint into the sand, pulled her to me and licked her lips. Hmmmn. It was like I was coming already. Everything was so nice, better than nice. And we just did it on the bank of the stream, the smell of the water and the woods and the sand and her body all mingling together, both of us naked in the sunshine. Of course, afterward we had sand all over us and I guess the pebbles weren't the most comfortable thing in the world. I dunno. Laughing, we splashed the freezing water onto goose-pimpled skin. Then we drank some and it felt so good.

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