scoop drops in

        Sight of the Skell Van misted Artie's eyes. He pressed his hand upon the radiator.
        Hello, old friend.
        So, all he had to do was climb the steps and knock on the door. A frog materialized in his throat. Much had transpired since they parted ways. Ziggy was now a charismatic motivational speaker who looked like Jesus. A soapbox minister in no need of a Crystal Cathedral. His cathedral was the great outdoors. Folks had testified to his healing powers.
         First Artie would hug his old friend and then Scoop would get the story. The Pentax was loaded and ready to shoot.
         From above: "Hey, asshole! Get away from there!"
         Sonya Chekov. On her balcony, feeding Mugsy.
         "Hey, Pretty Thing. It's me, Artie Hoffman."
         "Scoop! Sorry. Didn't recognize you."
         "Yeah, yeah. Mind if I come up?"
         "Suit yourself. I'm not home."


                                                                              *

         Years of celibacy had not been a requirement from God. Brother Ambrose felt so close to Cherry Blossom that he needed nothing more. Bonded forever.
         He put a lot of dirt on that old van. Travelling many miles. In Eugene he hooked up with a widow woman named Summer Rain, fifty years old, living in an Airstream trailerpark. Lattice arbor and canvas carport. Winter garden in back.
          "What a lovely mural," she said as he parked the Skell Van close beside her trailer.
          "My late wife painted it." He smiled without knowing it.
          Summer Rain was large and round. Shaped like the Venus of Willendorf.
          She wore black teeshirts and black denim overalls.
          "Are you in mourning?" he asked her.
          "Naw. These are my skinny clothes."
          They laughed and she served him iced tea. Two folding deck chairs. A card table.
          "You are welcome to anything I have," she said.
          "Thank you kindly."
          She visited his van and smoked weed. He shared his TM mantra and they meditated together. He shared her bathroom and kitchen. Pretty soon they were showering together. Saving water.
          One afternoon as hawks cried in the sky he told her he would be moving on.
          Her enormous tears broke his heart.


                                                                               *


         Now he was lounging in Sonya's apartment. Her wallposter of Bjork scrutinized him.
         A Sugarcubes CD played while he waited.
         Resting upon a window sill, where most people would put a pot of philadendron, was a feminine alabaster jar with nothing in it. Her Mary Magdalene.
         Knock knock.
         He looked up and saw Artie Hoffman, grinning like a thief.
         "Hello, Kemo Sabe."