Where Eagle Creek divides


The 8th and final resting spot was met with a sigh of relief. It certainly
is great to be here, said Peter like a monotone announcer from the early seventies. He appeared to be mimicking the voice of Roger Kelting from the film "Prisoner of Second Avenue," but I couldn't tell for sure. He then began looking around and seemed to be in a very comfortable state of mind. Birds were singing and it sounded as though we were a thousand miles away. Two squirrels were playing happily, chasing each other around a tree as they went up. This magical place now appeared to be a small utopia for all the little creatures of the day and evening alike. For us,
it was a haven. A place of refuge from the world.

Hey, check it out, said Peter pointing to a bird's nest that could be seen very high up. "They're all over the place, these nests." I then walked over to the large weeping willow tree that stood like a timeless symbol of prosperity, in a town so overpopulated by houses and businesses it was alarming. The towering mass with its long silk branches dangling down was the point that separated Eagle's creek. Here, water flowed, filtering around its roots in the stone lined trench before separating into two
smaller streams. The water then changed its course by traveling through the woods in opposite directions only to end up in far away culverts on distant streets. I gently placed a small green leaf into one of the streams and watched it sail away. I then took out a lone Garcia Y Vega "Java Tip" and lit up. Do you know that I've been stoned the entire year? "Me too." Peter then begins singing, "life's been good to me so far."

He then proceeds to remove a withered pack of "Spanish Tips"
by the same name, from his pocket. He immediately notices that one
of the cigars is cracked and the other is broken. First he became despondent and then he became irate! "Ain't that something, I have three cigars, two of which are now broken. What the hell am I supposed to do with these now? Doing all this climbing around like a complete moron. God damnit-sonofafuckin-bitch!!!" Not knowing what else to do, Peter hurls the cigars into the air like an angry knife thrower! Overwrought with grief, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the white hanky again, before carefully shaking it open.

                                          Pg 95
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From there he wipes away the formation of sweat particles, and stuffs
the white handkerchief back into his pocket. Calmly, he proceeds to unwrap the good cigar and light it, but not before stuffing the crumpled pack back into his rear pocket. Your keeping the empty cigar pack?
I asked inquisitively. "What am I supposed to do with it, litter?" As Peter pondered things I could never know, I puffed away on a tiny brown tipped cigar while thinking quietly to myself, what a wonderful day God has bestowed upon me.

I pulled out John's old brass ram bowl from my pocket and was shocked to see it. How is it that I do not remember putting this pipe into my pocket? I am really beginning to forget a lot of things lately, and this has me quite concerned. I looked at it strangely before shaking my head. I then packed it full of Neptali. Two years ago, John had bought a series of hand pipes for smoking pot. He would fiddle around with them, unscrewing the parts and then changing their initial design. Eventually, he had the most awesome pipe money could buy, that everyone wanted. After awhile he got tired of it and made a much better one with the head of a unicorn.
The ram bowl, he gave to me. I sparked the Egyptian herb, inhaled and passed it on to Peter. He toked and passed and we smoked and laughed, till I started to float off the ground!

All around the huge tree, sunlight covered the earth like spilled paint. Do
I dare leave the comfort of the tree's shadow to trifle in the burning sun? The mere thought of stepping out of this shelter and into the harshness of the exposed light made me feel extremely uneasy. As if I had suddenly and without warning been cast into a statue of pure white chocolate. Even within the serene borders of the shade, the humidity made me feel like I was starting to melt. As my mind set sail across the great horizon, I left this place to disappear in dream. I was now too tired to lift up, even my own arm. How torpid was I in this lethargic state where I sat, totally incapacitated and growing weaker by the second. Here, I listened to the slow and gentle movement of the water as it trickled by, and my mind became fixated on it. Through closed eyes, I felt like I was under a Great Banyan tree that seemed to go on forever. I perceived myself to be on a tiny island, and then found that island was moving! It felt so surreal, as if I had been somehow typecast into this gorgeous postcard that people were reading and admiring from afar, so I let that tiny island carry me away.
I then thought of the persistence of memory by Salvador Dali, and as
the picturesque scene began to dissolve all around me, a daguerreotype image of yet another setting had been captured in an imposing still frame. Immediately, it turned into a classic Norman Rockwell painting that would one day grace the front page of the Saturday Evening Post.

                                          Pg 96
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city appeared to be at peace with itself from where I could see. Standing upon the rooftop of a rundown tenement complex, while looking out over an entire civilization of people scampering around and getting lost in the melee. I gazed out at the old wooden water towers that adorned its horizon from tops of roofs and examined them. The stout ones appeared to be fairly clean with a marginal amount of discoloration that looked
more like a runoff of mascara down the barrel than any kind of actual discoloration from soot. However, those real narrow ones that looked
like they were erected during a cold war were jet black as if sprayed with coal dust. So peaceful and tranquil were they in reflecting the past, I found it hard to turn away. Looking down the building's facade, I could see that the steel shutters on each of its windows were opened out. As my eyes extended past rows of haberdashery shops and small deli's in the street,
I could see there was some kind of development unfolding. As to what,
I could not ascertain for it kept getting blurry. Upon struggling to regain focus, I saw that it was a parade. A corner parade, for there was now
a happening scene on every single corner!

Straight down on the 1st corner, an authentic looking organ grinder stands before the crowd set to dazzle! He is playing a hand-operated organ which is draped across his shoulders on a strap. With a little capuchin monkey near his side, dressed up as an infant bellhop in a cute little red uniform, he would perform a dance atop the old man's head whenever the music was played! The crowd absolutely adored it and the kids loved it! Aside from everything else going on in the street below, it was like stepping back in time a hundred years! The hot dog vendors were selling endless amounts of frankfurters, while on every other block, the sausage and pepper carts stood firm. Only old Italian men occupied these wagons.

On the 2nd corner across the way, a big burly man wearing a handlebar moustache is putting on a show for both children and adults. He is going to attempt to lift, what appears to be a four thousand pound barbell.
I know you, I said, you're the strongman! He smiled politely before throwing some talcum powder on his hands. Then with much effort he lifted the one piece barbell and hoisted it high above his head, arms quivering! He then let it go as he jumped back onto the sidewalk, and
it landed with an emphatic boom, taking the entire street down into
the awaiting subway station. All the smoke and debris soon gave way
to the incessant sound of hands clapping! When this happened, the bootblack who had been shining shoes in the same spot for the last
thirty five years sprung to his feet and shouted, "Play it again, Sam!
You got the whole world movin'!"

                                          Pg 97
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As I got a visual of the 3rd corner, I see a barbershop quartet performing an a cappella rendition of Sweet Marguerite! "Oh, lady in blossoming flowered apparel, bring all your sorrows to me. How dare, he treat you unfair! He's a swine! Let go of your manners, retreat." On this street,
the beer and tea flow endlessly! Just then, I happened to notice all the women were wearing floral hats and every man had in his mouth a cigar. Several women dressed as Victorian dolls were chatting away by a shop, pleasantly sipping their tea out of fine china while giggling about who
saw who doing what in the back of the open air carriage! There were red and white hand painted letters in many of the windows and when you read them from afar, the whole thing came to read, welcome to the exhibition
of 1890! "Come if you dare and be astounded!"

On the 4th block, witness, the spectacle of a freak sideshow with many different attractions! See Yenera, the world's thinnest woman weighing in at only 12 pounds! Watch Le Gran Haut, the world's fattest man, eat from sun up to sundown! Observe him eating where he sits, the more he eats, the more he shits! See the three legged Persian man, sidestep for the woman born with four hands coming out of her belly! They're all here! Watch in awe as these human oddities show you how unpleasant life
can really be! So disturbing, you'll leave feeling good about yourself!

Along the entire 5th block, those amazing magicians perform their magic tricks unlike the world has ever seen! Here, a man pulls helium balloons out of thin air and gives them to the happy children. Watch in horror as a grown woman turns into a slimy jellyfish and begins extruding pink, edible gelatin. Many different attractions to shock and confound! To the left, a young man spins cotton candy, while to the right an old man yells "Get
yur funnel cake!"

As I hover above the intersection on the 6th corner, I can see clowns and jugglers performing their act in the street! "Stand clear! If he drops one of the bowling balls, you're in trouble!!!" Ventriloquists with horrifyingly real dummies entertain for parents and children on the sidewalk as they pass by staring! It's the young children though, who know that the puppets are real. They are the ones who should know they have nothing to worry about. They are the ones who believe in those things that cannot be explained, but as every parent will surely attest, they are the ones who worry the most.

                                          Pg 98
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As young Jennie Kaster reached into her mother's pocket for a Mary Jane, an ancient candy old folks say has been around since the time of Christ, little Johnny Kaster reached into his own pocket for a R-ant. I'm sure you've heard of them. They were only made for two years, 1889 -1891. After eight months, the name was changed to Red-Ants. The company, *how foolish* used an extract of peppers that were imported from somewhere in Persia. Where, no one knows exactly. All I can tell you,
is that the candy came in the shape of an ant, but the extract could only
be found in a minute portion of the ant's body (or) abdomen. Meaning
that it could be easily broken off and thrown away, since the rest of it supposedly tasted like sugar water. This was told to me a long ago by my great-uncle Vic, whose exact words were, "many were already off in the box when you bought them." But they were made too hot, and if you ate too many, you could have a very serious problem as in the case of young Johnny Bryan. He collected a whole box worth and on a dare from his friends attempted to eat them all at once. (((The end result))) His face turned red, his throat swelled up, and he died. R.I.P. Johnny, wherever you are kid. "Stay clear of doing stupid things" Perraguine candy factory, if I seem to remember correctly was based out of Wyoming. . . I think. "Careful there Johnny boy," said the ventriloquist who had seen the boy reach for those horrible candies. "You don't want to burn your fin-gers, now do you?" The boy started crying and threw them at the street. Hmmm, thought the boy's father, how does he know my son's name?
As the ventriloquist turned away, his puppet gave the young boy
a sharp wink!

"Hurry up, said an old man popping corn!
While the popcorn is popping and the butter is hot, let's go!!!"

In between the sixth and seventh corner, a man by the name of Joe has
set up shop in a sturdy wooden pushcart. Come on, if ya want a boost, it's better than chocolate! It's the newest thing!!! The Java bean, the coffee bean, get your cup o' Joe! For only a nickel, see what I'm crazy about! I'll make it bitter, I'll make it sweet, try my cup o' Joe!!! A woman passing by mutters "Your product will never replace tea."

On the 7th corner, a traveling medicine show has set up and their main attraction is that of nitrous oxide. For a small fee, one can sit in a king's chair *an enormous chair of ridiculous proportion* to inhale a deep breath of the anesthetic. Make it snappy folks, we only have one more hour to go before we pack up and ride on outta here! You'll lose your hat! You'll blow your cool! Watch your neighbor as his tongue ties in truth! His world, in a nutshell, is a nutshell!!!

                                          Pg 99
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'll try that, said a distinguished gentleman in his mid twenties hopping up in the chair. Twelve cents please, said the man administering the drug. Of course, said the man politely. Now when I say goose egg, inhale all you can, and go! The valve was turned on and the man inhaled deeply. As the numb tingling sensation invaded his brain like tiny feathers, the man in the chair was thrown into a fit of boisterous hilarity, which caused him to convulse with roaring laughter! He tried earnestly to listen to the voices around him, but they were so distorted due to that noise in his brain,
which was making funny swishing sounds! His body became so relaxed in the chair that he slumped back and began melting down it! So ardently did he wish to say "the laughter the gas is doing" but instead, ended up only saying "Laughing. . . Gas!" And so at that moment, the term was coined! Peter began talking to me when suddenly, all the little pieces in this montage of a movie got stuck. Like a projector on still frame, the footage started bubbling and was destroyed. Thanks a lot, I said to myself, you made me lose the rest of it.

"I tell ya Charles, I am so fucking happy we don't have to go back the
same way. Just thinking about having to go through that tunnel again. . .
I don't know man, it just gives me the willies." I understand Pete.
I'm happy we have to leave a different way too. It's like, how do I say this? We've already been there and having to go through the motions
again just to get back to the starting point kind of sucks if you really
think about it. "That's definitely a more logical point of view."

I looked at my watch and found it to be nearing four.

Pete insisted we go to his house to avoid any complications, which may arise from us going back to my house. I knew if I stayed here, I would get pinned out, for sure, and so we began the short walk to Eltingville. It took less than a half hour to reach Peter's block, and by that time we decided to see what John was up to. John lived three houses down from Pete and two houses up from Paul.

We knocked on the door but there was no answer, so we went around through the back gate. There stood John, looking like the master of ceremonies at a prestigious garden party! "Hey, how'd you two know to come by? You're right on time! I was just gonna start the grill." The radio was tuned into CBS -FM, and Orpheus was singing "Leslie's world." John tells us to sit down, and that we should help ourselves to some beers. Pete said he had some things to do, and that he would return later. John then went in to bring out the meat and condiments, and so I helped myself to
a beer and cleaned the grill. When the meat was finally ready, we ate and talked about vintage cars, audiophile equipment and the upcoming keg party. John liked Mustangs, corvettes and GTO's from the seventies, while I, on the other hand, preferred anything before 1960. As we ate and drank, the idea of taking mescaline arose. John said, he has not taken it since last year. We looked at each other vaguely and said, in unity. "The night of the loon!" An infamous night that would forever remain etched in our memory.

                                          Pg 100
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------