Colorful, crayons, just crayons, yada-yada, brotherly love? No, it’s a windy city. Cold, hot blood, blondes and chase car getaways, or so it would seem… Yes your honor, I shot him, but he would have shot me, for we BOTH reached for the Gun!!! Illegal liquor sales went through the roof and we all wound up in a fairy tale. I drank myself further into a grease monkey jump suit, wiped meself a false mustache and galavanted as a rebel with a lady cause, he harmonica’d his way with a guitar full of some road dreams motorcycle stains in his rustled jeans. Hip Motions drove me to the river, bathed me in the water, granted a wet spray of St. Sebastian upon the head of a new babe, lady, woman splashing in the life stream, golden on her hair as she splashed there, drowning in the sunlight engulfed in light beams, the years caught on and they never knew her, the girl that danced in the river, held their hand and took us under, to a magic world, mushrooms looming larger up over head, or maybe you’re just that small, “all a matter of perspective” and other axioms spewing kittens leaving trails of cupcakes and smoke rings. Green women and greener men with children even greenier, with a Bottom friend and a fairly fair dragon lady.
A run-run Farmer in the Dell (Part 17)