In a park with a gazebo, perhaps the day after a county fair, with hay scattered among trampled grass, I was trying desperately -- to the point of tears -- to convince two girls selling cheeseburgers out of a paper bag, to sell me three cheeseburgers for my schizophrenic brother who had locked himself in the gazebo & had been there all night in an "episode." knew that my brother needed three cheeseburgers in order to regain control, but the girls said that he didn't need three, that he only needed two, & they were strict in their refusal. My brother's face had disappeared. His torso was turned facing me at times, but his face was gone, as if rubbed out. I was screaming, flailing at the girls for three cheeseburgers. They eventually ran away.