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Rabbit with whistle.
Rich man with jade.
Ceremonial dress.
Singing woman.
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Hemingway meets Falwell
FALWELL TO ALMS Misha Adamovich
The street was cold that day and moist from the early morning mist. The sky was grey as the trees, beyond the cars across the street. I was out to get a cognac. Sick from the night before, and a jump-start with my java was another breakfast. The trolley clanged as I placed seventy-five cents in the newspaper dispenser and pulled the door towards me. Several bums were sprawled on the stone and that was when I saw him, past the bodies, at the corner, tin cup, and sandwich board. In faded red print, 'THE END' by The DOORS, as revealed to Brother Jerry, small letters.
Two ten-inch speakers, a large Samsonite suit case, and Jim Morrison decreeing, 'Ca mon baby take a chance with us, --- and --- meet me at the back -- of the -- blue bus---'. The medium, was the massage, I thought?
Thinner, looking older, wet, still wearing grey three piece uniform, with overcoat. Needed a cut and shave. I stepped over a couple of damp tramps. Walked up and stuck my hand out. Slightly slower than he and his was palm up. Aren't you? "Yup," he said, before I could finish.
We sat around most of the day and I shared a bottle of VSOP. He wanted me to send him cassettes and gave me an address. I held the glass for more cognac, played name that tune, chapter and verse, and he showed me some lipstick, a pound of blush, and 700 eyelashes, false, saved from the take over. Some Polaroid's too, pulled from an inside jacket pocket, wrapped in worn brown bag, and paper.
"The moral majority," he beamed,"it was kinda like hula hoops." He looked at me warmly with that evangelic glow. He still had it. Hell! He sure did.
"You never know what's in the minds of those people," he said. Their hips going in and out. They'd do anything for me."
"God works his miracles in strange ways," he said.
"Who said that?" I said.
"I said that, and I said that first," he said.
After the water slide it was pretty much all down hill. He kicked around the country, couldn't hold any real jobs, looked every day in the paper. Even took my paper. He finally ended up here, outside Harry's Bar and American Grill. He now had some real troops. No namby pamby yuppie types. These tough street urchins, the meek, and the word, they knew it. It was sprayed on the walls.
"God works his miracles in strange ways," he mumbled again.
"Who said that?" I said.
"I said that," he slurred, "and I said that first."
And I believed him. And that was the last time I saw HIM and I got to thinking that those little obstacles that truth causes in life seemed so small. That he was pretty wonderful, and the money I'd sent him, well, that was in the past and it is a rosy
hue of colors.
I made a hundred that day, and this is my corner now, and I owe him, and I've seen the stop light past the garbage cans in front of the vacant building, and I wonder.
Hemingway meets Falwell
Mail. Edaten.com
P.O.Box 56
Half Moon Bay, Ca.
94019
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