To explain fully without leaving anything out, he took a
lotus flower and held it aloft without uttering a word.
Seeing this, Kasyapa’s face twisted into a smile, and all of
humanity and heaven did not know what to do.
Joe Satterfield was in New Orleans for two nights with Betty Bong. He had no business there; it’s just that ‘The Bong’ was determined to drive her red Suzuki Samurai that hadn’t been washed since about November to New Ahleens no matter if shit. Joe knew her mood swings and she was a few baby steps into hypomania. He went along to sort of keep an eye on her. Dangerous place, New Orleans. Not only that, it’s two nights on the road from North Carolina and her tires were slick as bird poop.
Settling in after arriving in New Orleans they found themselves in a little restaurant off Royal Street in the Quarter drinking beer and eating crawfish gumbo. Splitting up for the evening would require planning, communicating and concentration. ‘The Bong’ wanted to spend two-three hours doing the art shops on up Royal Street. Joe’d rather sit on a park bench with a six pack of Dixie beer and become the world, so they made a plan to meet up at the hotel room by midnight. Things in motion.
Dropping out of himself Joe strolled up Canal Street and turned right on Bourbon Street, as rank as the whiskey. He didn’t ...
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