On an island much like Saturna

Beckian and one of mother's journalist friends have property there-everyone was roving around the island (which also had a lake in the middle- so it was like a ring of land) in the dark, stumbly like a midwestern party in the woods. Allyson B. was there and every time I ran into her we had to do this jig/riverdance/footkicking dance that she knew very well but I was clumsy at. But I couldn't not do it. Her stare was very persuasive. At the party, Allyson and Tyler had been doing funny gorilla leg dances on a couch.
Justin and Brad decided to stay an extra night but I rode a tippy boat back to the mainland.
It was something like an old toy boat from the 30's or 40's, rust and raincoats. It was raining and the streets were cobblestone, slick, windy: like Florence at night, late spring. I was completely alone. Could see myself from above running through streets. I would notice the slight sepia of the streetlights and then go back into my body. I thought of somebody else's wedding picture. I ran to K's house, which was empty, where we had some agreement I could sleep. I was running with urgency as if he would be there, knowing he would not.
At K's, on an old squeaky screen porch that itself is a jewel box, I called the journalist. I told her "thank you for having me over." There was a long pause and I looked at the coffee cups and lowlit colorful pitchers hung on the wall. It seemed like a nice place. It was like a little coffee shop with great paint and many newspapers in I use to live in. I took a sip of wine. I told Margaret, the journalist, about what a great deal the small bottle of wine had been: "it was only 3.75!" She said she got hers for only 75 cents. The phone noise and the sky became the same color/sound combination--
high and low pitch at once and bright blue;an arm holding an empty plastic bottle out the passenger side of a car in the mountains, tilted just enough to make a noise.