Chapter 4- Dominique
I was at the end of my rope and the end of the credit, without a clue what to do.

With growing desperation, I finally struggled from my tomb.

The streets of San Francisco were awash with long haired vagrants whose uniform unwashed dishevelment, riotous plumage, beads and ankle bells made them seem like herds of sheep, in search of a shepherd.

I was drawn to the dark side. Like dust, too inchoate to be comprehended, I slipped through the cracks. I haunted the addled mid-night crowds, where perverse, half naked hookers and roving shark eyed street gangs preyed upon the shuffling zombies that inhabited the theater of the damned. Corruption engulfed me like a foul tide. Desperate, at Lands End, I stared into the frantic surf as obstreperous seals dared me to jump. In the museums I stared blind eyed at exhibits of human achievement I somehow hoped to equal, if only something would happen to save me from doing the work. Then luck served up its dark banquet once again.

It was August 13th, my 19th birthday. The Jimi Hendriks band was at the old FILLMORE BALLROOM on Fillmore Street. A ragged, hollow eyed hippie in a stained, tie dye night shirt jittered on the street outside. His child cheeks were smudged with shadows. With nervous, pot yellowed fingers he handed me a blue pill.

"Pure Owsley, man! BLUE CHEER! It's groovy!"

His toothless grin assailed me.

Inside, dancers spasmed in mindless drugged abandon. The stage was a savage altar. Adrift in a sea of sweat and smoke were the flotsam and jetsam of the hippie season. The ragged pilgrims come together to worship final, fatal dreams of peace, love and laughter served up on the cutting edge of the long drop into darkness. Suddenly, I saw Dominique.

Ebony hair sheathed her like ravens' wings. Her skin was lucent as moon-light. A black silk dress limned her body, as delicately iridescent as the wings of a fly. Wanton and untouchable she coiled in her solitary dance under the strobe light. Her tiny, satin slippered feet crushed desire from my heart like nectar from a grape. She smiled.

Through the ebb and flow of dancers she came, like a vampire to the blood. Our hands touched. Our lips met. The circuit closed.

"My twin, my love." She whispered. "Never alone. Never Again".

I shuddered.

I thought it was the acid.
Chapter 4- Dominique