Smoke billows out the door
Like Jimmy Cliff’s entry to the Twilight Zone
One of those episodes where a nice old man wins the lottery
Inhale and the phantasmagoria comes on instantly
But this is far from the Caribbean’s tropical clime
Cold as hell in fact
Definitely not Jamaica
The bar’s name is Russian
And the girl behind the counter is a Swede
And huge guy Ukranian
Even the fondue of America doesn’t melt like this
Virginal in these transactions
I just hold out my hand
And the Swede places
In my palm
A plant the feel of which I’ve never known
Soft, and I cup it like an ass
Aroma of purest memory
Threatens to rob me of mine
But the color… the… neon color
Chlorophyll never glowed like this
And before I commit the sin of loading it into the bowl
She stops me; “No, no.
You chew it.”
So I chew it.
Wash it down with a creamsicle.
You can’t know what happens next.
Here it’s against the fucking law.
Trevor's first go at the booth. Memories are a little fuzzy that far back, but I seem to recall that he kinda threw them with this one. Me, I don't know how you give us a title like this (and words like "creamsicle") and NOT expect to get back a surrealist drug manifesto.