Gotta Meet Some Blonde Girl 

Hey there, pretty ladies

It must've been Thursday. I was heading home thru downtowne with eyes pointed out stopping stopped at crosswalk. She come my way onner flat-tire bike in blonde hair and cutish well-drawn face, talking like we're in some show lot--something about mushrooms. The proper response: need or have?

--Need.

--Um yeah. Actually, yeah.

Shouldda just gotten the whole thing over with right then--gone to the place that holds my money and gotten it done. But I had to meet some cats at a bar for whiskey in half an hour. Had to get the dog home. She was going to the Yonder Mountain show at the Big Easy if she made enough money and we agreed to meet there within the hour tho it seemed unlikely. We introduced and parted. Her sweetness, thoughts of silly cybin, the nostalgia of a retired head ... I quickened my pace. Took the dog home. Mixed my Sherlock of whiskey and water inna peanut butter jar and went by the bank then to one bar to tell my friends I'd have to come back later--gotta meet some blonde girl at a different bar--just to keep the mystery you know. What else I got?

On the way to the other bar, I took roads I thought she'd, take just in case, and passed by two fellas I'd offended some other drunken night at the Bucket. Called 'em fascists. Thought to apologize but Lo! Heads. Hippies. In Boise. One finger over their dreaded domes looking for a "miracle" (at a Yonder Mtn show no less). I Looked around for her brokedown bike but couldn't find it so I went to sit on the loading dock across the street and wait, smoke a cig, watch the kids. Started to give up but why not sit on the Ha' Penny or Bourbon Street porch for a beer and see what happens.

Up on that porch of cologne and pretty ladies in intricate makeup she was there, my blonde girl. My gone young turned out heady girl straight in from a van in the woods somewhere talking to all that passed and drinking beer with some strangers.

As they left she recognized me--remembered my name tho I only had half of hers. We talked a bit, constantly interrupted by her trying to sell her stock to all that passed and:

--Hey mommas, you get a ticket?

--Yeah honey, miracles happen!

We talked a bit more. I produced a cigarette for her before she asked then I wanted to know if she thought that guy had cooties. She knew what I meant and grabbed the abandoned half pint from the next table for me. Her own beer had been $4.75--a real ripoff.

Some Republicans were sitting inside having dinner. We lovingly discussed them without the usual hang-ups of liberalism. They seemed nice people like any others.

--I'd just like to have em all eat some of these right now and see what happens.

--Better yet let's lay out the good stuff and ... oh well.

She told me about her boyfriend and their plans and her wanting to have sex with someone else, etc. We discussed mutual cities/towns and Boise. I drank slowly but was ready to get the exchange done and get back to the first bar. I was now two hours late and unsure if there would be whiskey waiting on me or an empty glass next to a pitcher. I expressed my concern and made my purchase. She offered me a beer onner way back from the restroom but I declined and took the opportunity to leave. Thanked her. Told her to find me again and took off reaching in my pocket for a cap and stem.

When I was younger I had a lot of rules about hallucinogens. Thought there had to be more experienced folk available, just in case ... thought there was something spiritual or that I wanted vision's candy. Fortunately my last lot was a Phish run in Vegas selling posters for an artist friend and eating chocolates. Finally learned how to eat them and eat food and drink and drink beer and just feel alright confident digging without that bothersome "I."

There was a nice Ethiopian restaurant just off the Strip--great lentils. The tea was euphoric. Realized later it was the psilocybin. It had just kicked in.

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