Henry Lucowski on the outside floating through a red canyon out west somewhere, flying with glow-bugs and butterflies, connected somehow, aloft and adrift.
Sucking the nectar of life from a fresh coconut through a straw, Henry in good form reading a review on a new biography of William Burroughs, nothing new here — the story of William had been told already—
Henry met William in Milwaukee at an after reading reception in the late eighties. Most people knew that William was a cold fish and no one should hug him.
Henry said hello to William over a tray of cold cuts, at that moment feeling a chill, a contingent of radical lesbians, butched-out and after Burroughs the misogynist. Lucowski got William out through the alley, William butch himself could understand.
Henry's Harley— William climbed on the bitch seat and the duo was off in a flash. William had never been on a Harley and enjoyed the feeling of the wind blowing in his face on the open road, feeling like he was flying through empty space.
William says "Let's get high," dope could be had in Chinatown, scar-thing up a grocery-bag full of goodies, junk, hash, cocaine, Zanex from the Chinamen, Lenny Ho, Ho’s Laundry.
Later under the gazebo in Henry’s backyard sitting on a dirty Moroccan carpet William emptied and spread the stash out on a plate. The old junky says — “ Henry, let’s shoot some speedballs pal and chase them with cool Jasmine Tea,”—
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