I'VE HAD THE STUFF BEFORE. Purple, blue, white, emerald. But never did it taste like this, to my tongue or my mind.
Kaleidoscope, yes, but beatific and unbenign. I KNOW I am beholding the jawbone of how the world works--regeneration, decay, remorselessness, repeat--and there is none of the terror or melodrama of our poor parents' dilemmas . . . as characterized, say, but the shrill pill of a Tennessee Williams play. Maggots reprise the future me.
I take a handful from his cheerful, brimming candy dish and pop them in my belt buckle compartment. It's so beautiful. "The Brotherhood's here to move this beauty." I squeeze and feel the power of a spirit who will turn on half the kids in California a hundred times over with this spiritual little pill. "We're going to name it after you."
I knew. He's awestruck at my prophecy as I hand him the decorated T-shirt, and he takes off ALL his clothes before he puts it on. ORANGE SUNSHINE EXPRESS. Oh yes!