2:30 AM- Sunday Morning
She’s awake talking about anything and everything to the only person who will listen; the only person who can stay awake long enough to hear her speak is her best friend, who will not sleep under the influence of noise.
“Savannah, are you awake? I like that show you showed me. Ade Edmondson and Rik Mayall are hysterical. I think they’re the funniest comedians alive besides Eddie Izzard. Ahhh, why are British comedians so funny?” Sarah will keep someone in a conversation with their own interests that she builds up her interests off of. Like a game of scrabble, she takes the words that someone’s already laid down and puts her own twist on them, adding words that are longer and gaining more points.
“Yeah, they’re funny. I personally think that anyone British can be hysterical, you know, like Roger Waters and Pete Townshend can just speak and their egos will make me cry laughing.” Her mind turns this remark over and she runs her fingers through it raking the points that she finds pleasing out of them; British, hysterical Pete Townshend, Roger Waters, egos.
“Roger Waters would be a great dictator. I think he needs to find a country to conquer.”
“Hopefully, it’s not Germany.” She laughed at the remark. Plans had already been made for the Berlin trip; it was just the money that mattered, where to get it and what to do with it when they arrived.  This was the epic journey that every young Glam Rock artist had made to find a place in the world and this was what every young Glam Rocker dreamed off; to go to the land of glitters.
“Savannah? Are you awake?” She had paused to long. She listened to her friend sleep, most likely dreaming about Ray Manzarek, David Bowie, Donovan, or someone of the like. She let herself drift off to the rhythmical breathing.
6:50- Sunday Morning
Sarah was awake again, alert. She had always been a morning person, and she watched the sleeping masses around her. Nothing would awake Savannah at this point, so she snaked around the figures passed out along the ground to do anything that would please her; play a few notes on the grand piano, break out the video games, read a book; noise didn’t matter.
Actually, noise could matter. Noise could wake up somebody. And no one made noise best than Sarah and her cat combined. Her cat, Kiyoshi, which in Japanese means quiet, was the loudest cat ever in the existence of the Earth. It would scream like a child when trapped in the basement, and it was stored away in the basement every night because the litter box was next to it. Kiyoshi was too fat to actually walk down the flight of stairs if it was the nighttime. It was a “morning cat”, or a sleeping cat.
Sarah let her noise making tendencies run out and she ran up stairs to get dressed, whistling Donovan’s “I Love My Shirt”, all the while. Though she didn’t know the actual words she knew that he rambled about how great his jeans were even though they were faded and frayed.  Donovan needed new threads; Sarah didn’t think he was glam at all if he couldn’t even buy a new pair of jeans. She stared warily at the posters of Cher while she changed; she had never liked how posters could stare at you while you changed. She finished, grabbed The Hunger and ran downstairs.
Well, at least she had two hours to waste on The Hunger, which was her favourite vampire book, in fact, the only one she would waste time on reading. She opened the book and submersed herself in the confusing plot line, she’d get through it; she had gotten through Gone with the Wind, the book and the 20 hour special edition movie.
1:30 PM- Sunday Afternoon
Savannah never left first unless she had something important to do, like School of Rock, and sleepovers were usually planned around Savannah’s schedule anyway. They sat in Sarah’s office joking about how much of a girl Donovan was.
“‘We slept on the breeze in the midnight with the raindrop and tears in our eyes. And who’s going to be the one to say it was no good what we done’?!  Savannah, please tell me what exactly they ‘done’.”
“I don’t know, Sarah, but they’re definitely too young as he keeps saying. Look! There it is again!! ‘Our years put together counted 30’. I think he wants you to feel bad for him, why don’t you send him some money, Sarah?”
“Yeah! I’ll put it in a green envelope. I wonder if he likes green, as well.”
“Probably not, he seems to wear a lot of pink shirts and velvet purple pants. He’s more of a woman-type.”
“I tell you one thing, if he doesn’t stop blowing on that harmonica, I’m going to…
“What?”
“I don’t know. Do something mean, I guess.”
“Not call him when we get to San Francisco?”
“No, of course, I’ll call him, but then I’ll be like, don’t mess with this bad ass.”
“And he’ll respond with?”
“Sarah, I love you so much. Marry me and we’ll watch stalk David Bowie together. I guess Savannah can come, too.”

*Italicized material © Donovan Leitch 1964, “I’ll Try for the Sun”