Another update: Madame and Roscoe have been spotted heading south from San Francisco. A friend from the area phoned Willard to say that the Bud Light truck was spotted just bookin' it for Baja after an APB went out. It seems that, rather belatedly, Anheuser Busch has decided they want the truck back. Madame, we venture to suggest, hasn't drunk her way through the contents of the trailer yet, and will not give them up without a fight. Roscoe, who is a peaceful soul despite several fatal confrontations with revenuers in his youth, probably decided they'd be better off south of the border until she finishes up the Bud Light.
I can see it all now: sneaking down to Tijuana, where Madame will no doubt replenish the money Auntie sent by Western Union by setting up a tent on the nearest beach. There, with sand and spray from the ocean blasting the talcum powder off the crystal ball (it's an American Express crystal ball; she don't leave home without it

), she will take advantage of tourists drowsy from too much sun and tequila, with Roscoe standing by to muscle out the ones who don't like what she sees in the crystal. (That will be most of them.) Fortunately, Madame works for cash on the barrelhead, as we hillbillies say. Whether she works for pesos or greenbacks is still open for debate.
We do have one concern: we haven't had time to check her house and see if she took along the infamous possum fur bikini. If she did, tourism in Tijuana will be ruined for years to come. (Willard suggests that Madame might, instead, turn it into a nudist beach, but I refuse to go there; anyone who has ever seen Madame in the altogether knows it's too vile to contemplate.)
On the other hand, she might decide she prefers Dos Equis to Bud Light and stay awhile.
If so, we'll be at war with Mexico within the month, possibly sooner.
Meanwhile, may I introduce another new member to the Stream, Shakespeare's Beatrice at http://muchadoaboutnothing.blogstream.com/. Like gnostix1, she's a friend from other boards, other places, other times, who likes the fun we're all having here and has decided to join us. Drop by her site when you can--and tell her Fairweather says hi.
And on that worried note (after all, Madame and Roscoe ARE still on the run out there, and may be on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List by dark--unlawful flight to avoid prosecution), until next time, fair thee well.
Which is why Tijuana may never recover
We are entering into either the greatest flim-flam of creativity(unintended consequences) or at the beginning of a real flowering of almost literary lights and subtle change. A club of players who connect in an adept purpose of performance and proposal. A company.
Least wise, that is what I wrote. Hi! All is good on my end. I don't know how I fit in, but your work and that of the other writers is coming together, I detect, some fun and the comraderie. The mystery train...
this diner awaites 'first eats' as the moving car/room approaches the wooden tressel over the great gorge. Nutty thoughts, but okay, I'm entitled. What?
No one is entitled...Not even the one, who is ahead. Trust must be earned. To wit, we do not pretend, but in our portending we carve the path of identity and the love of existence. For everyone in this
world, who is not happy with their lot...Do something about it. Get up and begin something that rings true and work at making it go forward everyday into the better world of being...The one where love resounds with beauty and hope.
Fairweather, please forgive me. I am always trying to just go and it gets out of hand and I say things, that are all lights and cyber-ink, but are they real, who knows? I am just happy to have rediscovered you and your coterie of friends. I can't promise, but I would love to stop by once in awhile and just be myself, and I hope that I don't leave too much of a mess.
Today has been great so far. I am off. Made a great greasy southern breakfast. Good! Now this_ at the end of other forays into the politics and disasters and last weeks obits. I am now going to garden in the sun, that is coming, just now. Fog, all morning. I'm a goner TR, bye