As it was, Soc's style was constantly changing, unorthodox, humorous, and even bizarre. Once he ran screaming after a little white dog that had just peed on the station steps —right in the middle of a lecture he was giving me on the « supreme benefits of an unshakably serene composure. »
Crater Lake, © Andy Spearing
Another time, about a week later, after we'd stayed up all night, we walked to Strawberry Creek and stood on a bridge, looking down at the stream overflowing with the winter rains.
« I wonder how deep the stream is today » I casually remarked, gazing absentmindedly down into the rushing waters. The next thing I know, I'd splashed into the churning, muddy brown water.
He had tossed me off the bridge!
« Well, how deep is it? »
« Deep enough, » I sputtered, dragging myself and my waterlogged clothes to shore. So much for idle speculation.