A/N: Okay, no hallucinations. But we're gonna find out a bit more about Ema. And, I actually have a plot for this now, I've been contemplating not really having a major plot, like the movie (unfortunately, I haven't read the book, but I will one day,) but I think I need one, so there's gonna be some kinda plot, and I'm not telling you about it yet. Thanks for all my reviews, I'm really really grateful!!!

Chapter Three

It's amazing how many law enforcement agencies there are around here. US Supreme Court, US Claims Court, The Court House, FBI Building, The White House, for fucks sake! If a case full of drugs belonged anywhere, it was here. But would I be able to walk past the District Court on 4th Street, up to The Court House on 5th, then on by the FBI Building on E. Street without arousing concern? I don't think so. The drugs stay safely in the hotel, as Ema and I visit the National Museum of American Art, Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library, Bureau of Engraving and Printing, and get politely kicked out of each one.

Back at the hotel I realize how close we had come to a jail sentence, maybe it wasn't a good idea to be drugged up in the capital? Bearing this in mind, I only smoke some grass, take one tab of acid and inhale a small amount of ether. But for everything I cut back on, Ema goes over the top. I realize this might not be the best time to ask her about herself as I spoon-feed her cocaine, but at least her hair's not blue anymore, and it's not sticking up in clumps as if I'd electrocuted her. Wait. I hadn't done that before, had I? I ingest a couple of tablespoons of cocaine rapidly to try and make some sense, but all I succeed in doing is spitting a lot of it back out while my tongue flails about with a mind of its own. Scary thought. The presidential speech was tomorrow, and I half knew that I hadn't be too high for it. I was also half aware of a warm feeling encompassing my pants. I jump off the bed like a bunny and make my way to the bathroom, but by then it's too late, and all is lost.

In preparation for tomorrow, I give Ema some more cocaine, hoping I can leave her passed out in the hotel room while I'm out. I also shower down the bathroom, if you're going to do anything, you gotta have a clean bathroom.

I change ready for bed and slip under the covers of the top half of the bed. I put a cigarette in my mouth and light up, staring at the ceiling.

"You know tomorrow I'm gonna ask you who you are," I tell Ema. "And you'd better know your own name."

I wake up, visor dug into my head and cigarette holder stuck in my mouth. That'll teach me for wearing my visor to bed, I think the bucket hat would be more comfortable. Scrabbling around in the bathroom I spot the word 'Ea' scrawled across my forehead in black, almost indescribable handwriting. Hmm. Missing an m. Or two m's. I amble back into the bedroom, flicking water at Ema and frantically scrubbing my head. I couldn't be seen with the president with 'Ea' across my head. It could stand for, 'extra alien,' 'enamel ambiguity,' 'elephant awareness,' fuck I didn't know!

"Did you do this to me?" I yell in her ear. "Did you do this you ungrateful little shit!"

"Ema," she manages to pronounce.

"Good," I say. "I'm glad we got that sorted out," putting my cigarette to my mouth, and wandering about the room. "Headache?"

"From hell," she agrees, rubbing her eyes.

"Good, now do you remember why you're here?" I ask, placing my bucket hat on my head. I could spend a short few hours of my life without drugs. Hell I was doing it now.

"Got any peanuts?" Ema asks, standing by me. Maybe I could be the responsible one?

"No, do you remember why you're here?" I repeat, I give her a few seconds to think, to try and piece together the flashbacks I knew she was having, without the aid of a tape player for special music.

"American Dream," she finally works out. Shit.

"Then in that case, you are in deep piles of poo, young lady. Where's your partner?"

"Michigan, maybe." Damn. I knew the American Dream, we'd been buddies a while back, I'd lived it long enough. I knew if she was searching for the American Dream she'd come to the wrong place. I begin to groan and amputate her legs with the plastic end of the fly swatter.

"Well, the American Dream is that way," I exclaim, pointing in a random direction. "And if you're lucky, all you'll figure out is the 60's are over, time moves on, and no one was right, otherwise we'd still be there. If you're not, you'll wander round a Las Vegas casino for two weeks, outta your skull, spend a day in Baker, terrorize innocent waitresses, and grow dinosaur tails. I've been there, I've lived the American Dream," I quieten down a little. "You're not missing out on much," I admit.

And it was true. It'd all happened to me, for better or worse. And I hadn't learnt much. At the time it had been great, the circus, the ape, Baker even, but in retrospect, it had been awful. And we sat at the back of that conference taking drugs and no-one noticed.

We thought we could achieve whatever we wanted to, whatever we set our minds to, and the only thing stopping us was ourselves. But now we know, we all know, that there's always laws, and ethics, and people just ready to get in the way of that Dream. That Dream which we all chase for so long, and never achieve.