Clarice felt like her heart had stopped, and she had to remember to breathe. There was a very young Ringo Starr, looking as if he had walked straight off one of her daddy's old album covers. She accepted the soda from him, thinking perhaps later she would need something stronger. "Thank... thank you," she stammered, not believing anything.
And then Paul McCartney stood in front of her, as young as Ringo. Younger, even. "Starling," she said, once her brain had started to function again. "Er, you can call me Clarice."
She was quite distracted, looking at all the different colors and the organ, where Paul had been sitting.
Not wanting him to think she was rude, she reached out to shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Paul." If this was some crazy dream, or an acid trip, she might as well play along and enjoy it while it lasted.