Wednesday, March 16, 1988

A bunch of thugs come over to a house I am alone in, which it turns out I am taking care of for the L’s. I think they are gone and I'm hanging out downstairs with Matt and Nat and John and Rich, smoking pot. The thugs come back and ride their dirt bikes in the yard. We all go up to get them to leave. "I'll be polite, though," I said, but they were gone. Now they were downstairs playing with our microphones and PA equipment. I tell them to leave, very politely. As they hand me the equipment, I see one put a lit cigarette into another one's coat pocket. I wonder if he will notice or if his coat will catch fire. He notices. C. W. is also there, checking to make sure they don't steal anything.