“Thank ya kindly,”

said the astute southern gentleman in the white suit. Apparently I had woken up in the middle of someone else’s conversation.

“Whatcha name, boy?”

“Dexter.”

“Ah, fine name, Dextah.”

“What’s your’s?”

“You call me the Colonel!”

“I’m in the chicken business, my boy. I raise “em, kill “em and fry “em up! They quite fine delicious. Invented a new way to fry “em up, too. Faster, more efficient. I’m franchising, boy, y’know what franchising means, boy?”

“Well, it…”

“Exactly! People buy land, then pay me for rent, resupplying and any other made up fees I wants! If they refuse, theys don’ts gets to bes “Chicken Fried: Kentuckies” no more! It pure genius!”

“Uh, that doesn’t sound very fair.”

“Capitalism, boy. Free market economy, its whats separating us from the commies! If it weren’t for the noble deeds of the Colonel and his Chicken Fried: Kentuckies, they’d be runnin’ “mok throughout the whole of Canada and be instigatin” border raids and attacks like the damn Mexicans!”

“Communism actually would be better than what I’m used to…”

“Yer a commie too, boy?”

“No, but I’ve seen some hard stuff.”

“Can agree with ya. I served in the Great war! They don’t calls me Colonel for nothing! I led a platoon into Gallippy! Lost over half a my boys in the battle of Gulliavine!”

“I’m having a bit of trouble believing that story, What country is “Gallippy” in?”

“Damn, boy, y’all knows that even they don’t know which country wherever it with be!”

“Well, I’ve gotta go, uh, see ya Colonel!”

“See ya, boy!”

I was walking around in an apple orchard I once knew. There was a setting sun, low in the sky, dying as it bred, a new day, still to come. In the sun, in the sun, I feel as one.

There were scrawny apples that you couldn’t even pay homeless people to eat. I was walking down the hill, off into the horizon, when I felt cracking below me. I stopped and the ground caved in, and I fell. I was in a prismatic tube, falling without bounds. It was strangely quiet. I fell some more, then I heard something. A unique rendition of something sacred to the patriots, forgotten except at sports games by the populous. It was a terrible, awe-inspiring twisting of pain, virtue and Vietnam. It was…

I hit a mattress. I was in a brick apartment. I smelt the air, and detected a medley of fruit, drugs and smoke. I looked at the ceiling. I was in the 60’s. I sat up on the mattress and saw a black guy over in the corner, with a mid-size fro and an acoustic guitar in his lap. He was just improvising and playing around. I opened my lips and vibrations came from my vocal chords.