I’m taken to high school.
I sit inside the office with 2 young psychologists. It’s some kind of job interview or student-to-teacher get together. They don’t know how old I am. We get into the psychology of life. They’ve written a book: Psychology for Dummies. I point them out. They correct me: they are actually the 2 teenagers looking at the two hipsters that wrote the book and are pictured — a curly haired man and a Frenchman.
I show them my shoes. They fall over themselves when I tell them they are Fluevogs. They don’t know how they’d do it, they say. I say one just has to be brave enough to go online and order them.
At one point I take issue with their theory. I stand up.
We move outside the pool. The principal, a black woman, joins us. She flirts with all of us softly. By the end she tells us she’s hot. I wonder should I go down under the table and service her, but that would be too wonderful and embarrassing. She takes a fire extinguisher and sprays it up her skirt.