San Luis Obispo,
James, our soundman, has fallen into a horrible depression. It started the night of the L.A. show and is so deep that he won't leave the van except to eat and poop.

I woke up this morning at our friend Melissa's house, where Andy & I stayed. I sat on the vine-draped trellissed porch & sipped coffee with her Californian housemates, who were riding bikes or going to the Blues jam or going to the Strawberry festival on this gorgeous breezy Sunday. We're on our way to San Francisco, and I'm praying we can stop at a great big amusement park on the way so I can go on a roller coaster that goes upside-down. I've always wanted to go on one of those things. I fear that, if we do find one & go, James will stay in the van & roast in the hot sun & his misery, but what can I do? I've made my effort, & now I'm gonna have my fun. Did I tell you that Tom in San Francisco has already planned a volleyball game and a barbecue for tomorrow? I'm so happy I could barf.

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