… even though we ain't got scratch …
We hadn’t imagined having to choose among a fat wad of money or wide circulation or critical praise. Any way, we would have arrived and lost.
Our movie starred a half-Zuni who spoke only single word sentences: “Video.” “Lasagna.”
His mother? Iceberg.
Everybody wanted to interview them. Both. They’d become stars. Or at least celebrities.
Our movie also starred Isadora with her dancers.
Everybody seemed to know them.
We made our Magic Show fully aware how Micemen Finish Last / Fragments / In May, Against Trees Blossoming Softly / Petroglyphs / Tipi Gita / Fertility Rites (condoms, diaphrams, etc) / Fertile Turtles / Car Nation Milk / Prose Like Fresh Tilled Earth / Onward, Elektrik Bleu! / Love Rest Stop (chalked on sidewalk, hop skip and jump) / Dancing Bear Is a Good-Time Man / Sun Signs / Moon Festival / Rosemary’s Mother / Dirty Little / King David / Ain’t No Bugs on Me / Ant Song / “He’s Mine.”
Homer was now Duke at the bank.
The airport, on Barley Sheaf Road, meant ROCKY RUNWAY TAKEOFF. Even for aliens.
GOURMET LOTTERY, as the sign says, at its landing.
To open the complete (free) novella, With a passing freight train of 119 cars and twin cabooses, click here.