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In the room she dusted everything from the little volkswagon that ran on D batteries to the breeches of the stuffed animal, Pluto. When she opened one of his desk drawers she discovered a child's book called "Heroes of the Bible." It was published by the Latter Day Saints.
I parked my Volkswagon Bus at a mall one-and-a-half miles east of campus and walked with Nunatak toward the sea. I had cut through the not-yet-bulldozed chaparral just east of Interstate-5 many times since returning to UCSD a twenty-seven year old undergraduate but now the sun was setting and the air seemed heavy. Suddenly, I had a sense of where I was going.
Tall, with thick red hair, Mike looked, ate, and at times acted like a wild Viking. In reality, he was a wild UCSD medical student. Once he told me that he occasionally slept in his Volkswagon bus in campus parking lots. "You really do that?" I asked. "Yeah. The cops don't like it, though." "What do they do?" "They shake the van and try to get me to come out." "Do you?" "Nah.
Yet in the spring of 1988, stung by memories of friendship and deceit in Rama's nest, I stumbled my way past the burned-out car abandoned on the charred foundation of 9514 La Jolla Farms Road. I let Nunatak lead me in the fading light through the parched chaparral. She gently tugged me back to the present. One-and-a-half miles east of campus, I opened the door of my Volkswagon Bus.
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