I'm back at dance rehearsal in the Vashon Island High School Theatre. My dad and our family friend Doh swing by and we start walking down the highway in search of mushrooms and booze. As we walk down the road in the hot sun, a small, rickety, clown-like car pulls up with James Franco in the driver's seat. "Hey, do you guys wanna ride?" Somehow we all pile in, Dad and Doh in the back seat, myself and some cute boy sitting on my lap in shotgun. "Hey, I'm headed down to Portland to get some good weed. Is that chill?" asks Franco. My Dad and Doh are already lighting up in the back seat, and despite my requests to get back to dance rehearsal, we're on our way to Portland.
After a couple seconds in the car, we're all drunk and high. Without warning, the boy in my lap opens the door and begins to vomit. Rubbing his back as he pukes, I whisper sweet, comforting nothings into his ear. He sits back up and I hug him close. The door shuts. "That was really impressive. You didn't get any vomit on the car. Good Job." I say. James Franco turns to me, furious, "How could you puke in my car? You couldn't even tell me to pull over?" he yells. "No sorry, that was me," says the cute boy on my lap. He saved my from the wrath of James Franco.
After a while of driving, we arrive at a truck stop. A woman comes out from the camping shelter, sees the car and begins to yell at James Franco. "How could you just leave me in charge of this stupid, ramshackle shit hole of a truck stop?! James, you think I give a shit about your truck stop? And you brought friends? I hope you guys don't trust him. He's a piece of shit boss!" We see her room, a beautifully sparse meditative room. Then we all pile back in the car, Franco's friend too, and head back to Vashon.
I LOVE YOU
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