WHEN FAT MEN FLY by Peter Nolan Smith Chapter 3

In the morning Sookie and I ferried over to Staten Island. She loved the boat ride across the harbor. The Statue of Liberty was bigger than I remembered from my last trip to New York. Nick met us at the terminal in his Mini-Cooper. He looked splendid in his hippie dealer clothing; patchwork leather jacket and shiny boots. We had breakfast at his parents’ house in New Dorp.

His mother fried eggs in bacon fat. I loved them crackling crisp. She fed the skinny twenty year-old, until her tight belly extended over her hiphuggers. She disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes. When she emerged, her face was red and she said, “I need some air.”

After lunch Nick drove to Shooter’s Island and we smoked a joint among the shipwrecks. The three of us strolled across the rotting wharves pretending we were pirates. The harbor water glistened with oil. The faint clouds in the blue sky hinted at an evening snow.

There were only a few hours left to 1970.

“What are you doing tonight?” Nick jumped from a rotting ferry to a half-sunken tugboat.

“No one’s really playing at the Fillmore, so we’re watching the fireworks in Central Park.” Wayne had mentioned this alternative.

“And your friend has some more of this reefer? Selling a pound here will pay my rent in Brighton.

“Yes, sure.” I held out my hand to help Sookie over a gap in the planks.

“Sounds like a plan. I'll drive you into the city.” Nick climbed onto a stranded pilot boat. We followed him into the shattered wheelhouse. The walls were covered with moss.

“Can’t we stay here?” Sookie was in no hurry to get back to Manhattan.

“Why would you want to stay here?” Nick had lived most of his life on this island.

“She’s scared of Wayne’s friend.” I stood at the helm. The wheel was slimy with rot. “He’s a little fat.”

“A little fat? He weighs as much as a walrus.” Sookie shivered from the cold. The wind off the harbor was cruel. “I have a thing about fat people.

“One in the freak show tried to eat her,” I joked, but she wasn’t smiling.

“The clowns are the ones who scared me.”

“Clowns are scary?” I had been on BOZO THE CLOWN three times.

“It’s called Coulrophobia. One tried to pull me into the ring. I kicked him in the shin. My mother and father laughed and so did everyone else in the audience. The clown called me a little shit under his breath.” A long-buried hatred burned his eyes. “I kicked him again. So I understand about the fears.”

“Are you prejudiced against fat people?”

“You ever hear me call Wayne fat?” Sookie was the complete opposite of Wayne's friend. Eddie was probably five times her weight.

“Wayne’s not fat.” The wind off the water blew hard. White caps ruffled the waves. It was getting colder g.

“I’ve met Wayne.” Nick was a movie buff. “He’s like Ernest Borgnine in FROM HERE TO ETERNITY. Borgnine’s character kills Sinatra for calling him ‘fatso’. And then Montgomery Cliff calls him ‘fatso’ and kills Borgnine.”

“He didn’t kill him because he was fat. He killed him because he was mean. Wayne’s not fat.”

“What about Eddie?” Sookie cocked her head to the side.

“He has to drop 200 pounds before he can fly in a glider.”

"What glider?"

"Eddie wants to fly a glider."

"He's on a cocaine diet. He'll never lose that weight."

""Maybe you could train him."

"What you mean?"

"Teach him how to be thin."

"You don't like me this way. I don't either. Let's get out of here. I'm cold."

Sookie stormed away.

"Nice job." Nick clapped me on the back. "You really have a way with women"

"Thanks. I could give you lessons."

"Lessons like that I can live without."

Sookie sulked in the back seat of the Mini-Cooper on the ride over to Manhattan. I half-expected her to drive home, but once she was with Marie at Eddie’s apartment, Sookie reverted to herself again. She was even a little affectionate as she changed into tight jeans and a white turtle-neck sweater for our excursion to Central Park. I helped her put on the silver necklace. It hung slack on her flat chest. She was becoming New York on the surface and I felt like a teenager from a suburb south of Boston.

“I do like the way you look.” I brushed a wandering strand of hair from her face.

“I'm sorry about this afternoon.” She nestled her head into my chest. Her half-nakedness answered most men's dreams. “I’m scared of fat people. I know it’s not right, but I can't help it. Later I’ll be a good girl.”

We went into the living room and smoked reefer in a bong. I opened the two bottles of wine. Jolee Wayne showed up in biker gear. Outlaw life ran in Wayne’s family. She brought a bottle of tequila. Everyone had shots. Eddie cut us lines. Wayne ignored Jolee's flirting with his girlfriend, as he played DJ with his new LPS. BITCHES BREW lasted one track. The Stooges FUN HOUSE two. Spirit’s 12 DREAMS OF DR. SARDONICUS was our favorite, but at the end of the B-side Marie asked, “When you playing a record we can dance to?"

“Right now.” Wayne cued up Isaac Hayes HOT BUTTERED SOUL. The girls danced go-go style. Nick and I trotted the standard male two-step. Wayne wiggled his legs, doing the ‘funky Chicken’. The Black Moses infected Eddie and he rose from his lounge chair with a groan.

“Damn, I haven’t been on my feet in days. Thank God for cocaine.”

Eddie jelloed into front of the fish tanks and the floor wobbled under his weight. He lifted his arms, only getting as far as his shoulders. His face was flushed with blood and he wheezed with every breath. We couldn’t tell if he was about to have a heart attack, until he broke into a smile and sang along with Isaac Hayes. His soprano voice was hilariously out of touch with his 10X body.

“What? No one ever see the hippos dance in FANTASIA.” The floor trampolined under his weight.

“I love FANTASIA.” Sookie pulled Eddie to the middle of the room.

“You’re killing me.” He broadened his stance to support his shifting weight.

The two danced a polka to the Kink’s LOLA. I laughed at the spectacle of a fat man and a skinny girl swirling around the living room. At the song's end Eddie's lungs were scorched by the exertion. He didn't sit down.

“No way can I walk like a woman, but I can speak like a man.” Eddie lifted his coat from a nail banged into the wall. “It’s 10:30. If we’re going, then we should go.”

Everyone threw on their jackets and climbed down the stairs. Jolee cut out to a dyke bar. The descent for Eddie was more exercise than his body could handle at one time. I bought four bottle of wine in the time it took him to make the street. Nick waited in his Mini-Cooper. The girls and Wayne were squashed into the back seat.

"No way I'm getting into that tin can." He regarded the small car with a claustrophobic horror.

“You’ll fit.” Nick already had the car in 2nd gear, since shifting would be impossible once Eddie was in the car.

“I might fit, but I’ll never get out.”

We pleaded for him to get in the car. It would be a tight fit, but not as bad as the four of us in the back. Several passers-by watched our circus act. Eddie was not happy with an audience.

"We're not leaving without you. Get in back.” Nick opened his door and I squiggled underneath Sookie who said to Eddie, "Hurry up or you'll miss the fireworks.”

Her smile prodded Eddie into a decision against his better judgment. He shrugged under the layers of fat and he heaved himself into the passenger seat. The over-loaded Mini-Cooper tilted under his mass like the car might capsize, then it stabilized slanting to the right. A hippie closed the door. We flashed him the peace sign.

“We’re all in.” Nick revved the engine. “Eddie, one favor. No fast moves.”

The trip up to the park was slow. A single bump would have torn the suspension off the chassis, but no one ribbed Eddie. He was longer fat. He was only big. For Sookie too. She had Eddie under her thumb. My position was someplace else.

I kissed her on the back of the neck and she trembled on my lap. New Year’s revelers were surging into the 5th Avenue entrance across from the Plaza Hotel. The cops had a barricade across the road. Nick showed them this father’s MD pass. They waved us into the park and we drove to the boathouse. It was quarter to 12.

Getting Eddie out of the front seat was an exercise of patience. He was breathless after this epic effort and we helped him over to a park bench. It had a clear view of the lake. Strains of rock music faded in and out on the wind. People headed in its direction. One group of hippies ridiculed Eddie. I told them to shut up.

Eddie motioned for me to let it go. He was used to the abuse.

“That’s as far as I go.” The air whooshed in and out of his lungs. His face was soaked with sweat. Another ten steps might kill him. “You go on without me.”

“No way.” Wayne joined Eddie on the bench. Marie sat on his lap. Nick pulled some blankets out of Mini-Cooper. I opened the bottles of Boone Farm. Wayne lit up joints. Sookie cuddled closer to me for warmth. Her body seemed starved for heat. Nick draped us with a quilt.

“All we need is a fire and we could have a picnic.” Nick rubbed his hands together fast enough to start flames.

“Try some of this to get warm.” Sookie handed him a small bottle of tequila. We each had a nip. The alcohol boiled in our stomachs. Eddie was about to light another joint, when a cop appeared behind him. He was about our age. Young.

“That looks like marijuana.” His nightstick tapped the bench.

“It is.” Eddie craned his neck without being able to see the officer.

“The rest of you hippie scum holding?” The thin cop beamed a flashlight in our eyes.

Other longhairs gathered around us.

“No, just me.” Eddie admitted his guilt. “You can arrest me and I’ll resist the only way I know. By being heavy. But if you shine us on, we’ll wish you a Happy New Year.”

“Let the big man go free!” one long-hair shouted and the crowd chanted for Eddie’s release. The cop surveyed the shadows for back-up. He was outnumbered 50-1. His hand twitched on the handle of his .38, then an older cop pushed through the hippies and assessed the scene with veteran eyes.

“That a joint in your hand?” His flashlight shined on the reefer.

“Yes, officer.” Eddie excelled at playing ‘good boy’.

“And the officer wants to arrest you for possession.” He flicked off the light.

“That’s correct, officer.”

“You put away the joint.” He lifted his open hands to show this problem wasn’t a problem. “My partner and I will leave you alone.”

“Thank you, officer.” Eddie put the joint inside his coat and nodded his gratitude. “And Happy New Year.”

“Same to you.” The older cop escorted his fellow officer from the bench and the mob parted for the policemen to leave the area. The hippies cheered Eddie and two seconds later the first rocket for the fireworks arced into the night sky. It was 1971. The pyrotechnic display lasted a good half-hour and Eddie cried at the finale.

“What’s wrong?” Wayne stood by his friend.

“I haven’t been out of the apartment in so long I forgot what it’s like to be around people. To be with friends.” Eddie struggled to his feet, brushing his eyes dry. “I don’t want my eyelids to freeze shut.”

“Eddie, you don’t have to stay in the apartment all the time.” Wayne was half Eddie’s size. His problems with weight were manageable.

“I can barely walk to the Mini-Cooper.” His steps were tentative, as if he expected the earth to crumple beneath his feet. “And you seen me on the stairs. You should have seen me at Woodstock. I could only make it to the rim of the crowd. Wayne stayed with me the entire time.”

“It was nothing.” Wayne had never mentioned this sacrifice. He always spoke about the festival, as if he had been in the front row.

“You had to stick with me instead of seeing all those bands.” Eddie pounded his chest with his fists.

“I heard the music.” Wayne seized Eddie’s wrists. His hands barely reached halfway around the thick joints. “Plus Woodstock was more than the music. It was about brotherhood and man.”

“Horseshit. I’m trapped in this body, but I wasn’t this way always. Chubby, but not fat like this, and when I was 12, I ate a Devil’s Dog. It was so good I would do anything to get them. I started dealing drugs on Jerome Avenue to finance my eating habits. Within two years I weighed 200. By the time I was 18 I was over 300. I have no idea how much I weigh now.”

Eddie was on the verge of crying. Wayne slipped under Eddie’s arm to steady him and I held his other side. Eddie would have shaken us off, except his sense of balance wandered with every step.

“I’m telling myself the truth. I’m a big fat fuck and I’ll never be able to get into a glider.”

“Shut up, Eddie.” Sookie stood in front of us. “When I first saw you, I thought you were a big fat fuck, but now I know you have a good heart. Fly or not fly, it’s not the end of the world. You’ll still be our friend. Do you really want to fly?”

“Yes.” It was a simple admission.

“Then we’ll help you starve.” Sookie caressed his face. “Starting tomorrow.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was already tomorrow and said, "You have to start someplace."

"I guess so."

We drove back to St. Mark’s Place. Nick drove back to Staten Island. We stood on the sidewalk. Eddie's eyes were fixed on the 24-hour diner down the street. He turned to his apartment instead. We had to speak about anything else other than his hunger. Marie helped us push Eddie up the stoop. Wayne was getting red in the face. He wasn’t in such good shape either. The climb to the 3rd floor exhausted Eddie and he collapsed into the lounge chair like it was a sarcophagus. Wayne headed into the back bedroom and fell asleep without saying a single word. I read Kerouac’s ON THE ROAD. The girls went into the kitchen and it was a good 30 minutes before Eddie noticed Sookie and Marie emptying the cabinets and refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” He asked without any real desire to hear the answer.

“Cleaning out the junk food.” Marie held up ten bags of potato chips. “You are what you eat.”

“You have to eat less and eat good. No more shit.” Sookie dumped the cookies into the trash.

“What will I live on?”

“Vegetables, fruit, no bread.” Sookie showed him a shriveled lemon.

“That’s been here since I moved in.”

“It’s mummified.” Sookie dropped the lemon on top of the cookies. “Eddie, you want to be the fat fuck you are today? Maybe even fatter? You want that?”

“No.”

“You said the magic number was 200 pounds.”

“Yes.” Eddie was her faithful slave.

“In six months.”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll need help.” Sookie peered into his eyes, as if to touch his heart. “If you’re really serious, because if you are, then I’ll help you. And you’re asking why. You know I was scared of you at first. Scared because you reminded me of a freak show fat man. I was so scared by that man that I told myself I never wanted to be fat and stopped eating normal. I don’t eat. Same as you always eat. Opposite, but the same too.”

“How can you help me?” Eddie was eying the cookies in the garbage cam. “You live in Boston.”

“What if I lived in New York?”

“Live in New York?” I had seen us in a Commonwealth Avenue apartment.

“I can’t stand living at home anymore.” Sookie said to me, then turned to Eddie. “My parents understand. I have all my stuff in the back of the car. I have money. I can pay you rent. I’ll get a job too.”

“Helping me lose weight will be enough of a job.” Eddie's reservation was an act of preservation for his fat.

“It’ll be easy.” Sookie flipped her hair off her shoulder. “I know how to not eat, remember.”

“Just yesterday you were scared of Eddie.” This didn’t make any sense. She had been horrified by Eddie. I almost loved her.

“That was yesterday. Today is a brand new year.” She was not returning to Boston. Her eyes said good riddance to that city.

“What about your car?”

“It’ll stay here with me. There should be enough room for Eddie.”

“Great.” My exit should have a slammed door, instead I pushed through the beaded curtains and flopped on the sofa bed.

Sookie followed a second later and shut out the light. I didn’t plan on saying a word. She was a free human being. Her shirt came off first. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts were flat against her chest. Her finger and index finger popped open the brass buttons of her pants. Each one made a small noise. She used both hands to slink from the leather. Her skimpy panties were white. Sookie sat on the bed next to me with bony arms across her chest.

“This isn’t about you and me.” The hushed words couldn’t travel farther than the sofa. “This is about me. I want to live in New York. You probably do too, but you have to go to college.”

My draft number was 39. College kept me out of the army. I didn’t want to kill any Vietnamese. John Wayne was no longer my God.

“If you sell that pot fast, then you have all the more reason to visit me.” She undid the buttons of my shirt. Her fingernails grazed my skin. “And now I’ll show you one more.”

I lost my virginity that night.

Wayne gave me a big grin in the morning.

“Everything cool.”

“I’m not sure.” I signaled Eddie and I had some talking to do.

“We have a problem?” Eddie was barely awake.

“No problem as long as you don’t give any cocaine to her.”

“I’ll try, but this is a free country.” He glanced at Sookie.

“I’m not into coke.” She sat on the sofa. It swallowed her whole. “It’s cool. Really.”

She was right. Everything was cool.

Two days later Sookie found a job at a used-clothing store. We made love again every morning and night. On January 3rdNick picked up Wayne, Marie, and me in his Mini-Cooper. I sold him a pound for $160. The second I sold to the other taxi drivers and I returned to New York for two more pounds the following week. Eddie was eating vegetables and fruit. Sookie ate bread.

“I could use the weight.” She had gained 5 pounds in a week.

“Nice.” She was more comfortable in bed with the extra flesh.

“What about me? Eddie pulled on his loose shirt.

“You’re a shadow of your former self.”

Sookie and I saw Buddy Miles and Big Brother at the Fillmore. We ate steamed vegetables with Eddie. In bed she was different from before. I didn’t ask why she closed her eyes. Some questions are better left unasked by those not wanting the answers and I certainly did not want to know why.

WHEN FAT MEN FLY by Peter Nolan Smith Chapter 2

A day before New Year’s Eve Sookie and Marie came over Wayne's house. The two girls wore matching white leather jackets, mini-skirts, knee-high boots, and turtleneck sweater. They were excited about their first trip to the big city. New York was bound to dazzle anyone from a small town. Even one as big as Weymouth.

"We look like sisters?" Marie asked Wayne's mom.

"Like Eva and Zsa-Zsa Gabor." Wayne's mom puffed on a joint without explaining that the Gabor sisters were blondes. She liked smoking on the holidays. Her finger poked Wayne. "Go visit your sister n NewYork. See if she's okay."

"Jolee's an ex-Marine.” Wayne had grown a thick Castro beard in the last ten days and his hair was longer. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen to her?"

“Just do what I ask for once.”

"Yes, mom." Wayne was a good son. His mom's Xmas gift had been a black fake-fur overcoat.

"And shave off that beard before you come back." She hugged him good-bye. "You look like a runaway panda in that coat."

“It's nice and warm." He waved to his step-father, who was finishing a bottle of Zapple wine. "Have a happy new year."

Wayne and Marie sat in the back of the LeMans. The gas tank was full. The bags were in the trunk. Sookie asked me to drive. I slid behind the wheel and turned on the radio. LAYLA was on Dave Summer's WBZ show.

“It would be so cool in Eric was playing in New York.” Marie loved Clapton.

"Sorry, he’s in London jamming at Ronnie Scott's with Charlie Watts and Ringo Starr. The Fillmore has Mylon and David Rea." Wayne's connection with the whereabouts of rock musicians had to be with the FBI. I had heard of neither group.

“We'll see some other band." Marie was only a little disappointed. This trip was about seeing the biggest city in the world.

"And we got the rest of the week off." Sookie clapped her hands, as we drove away from Wayne's house. The car skidded on ice. I corrected the spin with the steering wheel. I had been born in Maine. We knew how to drive in the winter.

"How you get off work?" Wayne rolled a joint on Aldous Huxley’s book HEAVEN AND HELL.

"I told Pizza-Face my mother was sick." Marie snuggled into the furry overcoat.

"He called my house to check. Cough-cough. My 'mother' said I was sick too." Sookie covered her mouth. "I'm a good actress, huh?

"A regular Mia Farrow." She shared the same figure as Frank Sinatra’s ex-wife.

"What you tell your parents?" I was curious, since she never spoke about them.

"I told them I’m moving to New York." She toyed with a lipstick tube. "They thought I was kidding."

"Maybe you're not such a good actress."

"It depends on the audience." She smeared on pink lipstick. "Keep your eyes on the road."

"Merry Christmas." Wayne handed her a Billy Holiday 8-track, as we pulled onto Route 3. "I think you'll dig it."

She turned off the radio and slotted the tape in the stereo. Billie Holiday’s voice travelled over time, as she sang of 'strange fruit'. Her other songs were better suited for the winter sun shining through fleecy clouds. Sookie put on Joni Mitchell next and the two girls sang a duet to URGE FOR GOING. They liked Tom Rush’s version too.

The traffic was light on I-95 through Providence and Rhode Island's Pine Barrens. We stopped for lunch in New London. Marie, Wayne, and I ate apple pie. Sookie said she wasn’t hungry. She drank a glass of water. Back on the road Wayne outlined our trip to New York.

"The East Village and the Staten Island ferry. Maybe even the Empire State Building, but remember that we're on a business trip."

"No pleasure, Teddy Bear?" Marie tweaked his plumb cheek.

He had gained a few extra pounds over the holiday.

"Maybe a little." Wayne was comfortable with his weight and laid his head on Marie's lap. Within seconds he was asleep. Marie joined him before Mystic, Connecticut and Sookie dozed off a few minutes later. I turned down the stereo and pressed my foot down on the accelerator. The LeMans easily hit 75 on the dry roads, but I slowed down to five miles over the speed limit. Cops didn’t like hippies driving fast.

When the LeMans crossed over the Hutchinson River Bridge, Wayne woke up and rubbed his face. The girls sensed his stirring and blinked their eyes for several seconds being stunned by the endless blocks of high buildings.

“You are now officially in New York.” Wayne looked left to a complex of apartment buildings next to a marsh. “My old man worked there.”

"Didn't Adventure Land used to be here?" I had begged my father to stop at the amusement park on the way back from our trip to New York. It had looked like Disneyworld built on a swamp. My father had said, “Another time.”

"They tore it down for Co-op City. This is the Bronx. I was born on Crow's Avenue." Abandoned cars lined the highway.

"You want to stop for a visit?"

"No way." Wayne shook his head. "Crow's Ave is where greasers gave me fat-boy beatings. I hope they’re all dead."

His voice was chilled by the memory of that bullying. I understood. I had been bullied too. I turned up the radio. The DJ was playing the Stooges’ WANNA BE YOUR DOG. The song was banned from the Boston airwaves. This city was not my hometown.

An elevated highway bisected the South Bronx and we crossed the Harlem River in Manhattan. Wayne gave a rolling tour of Central Park, 5th Avenue, the Empire State Building, and finally said, "Take a left on 8th Street."

The sun fell behind the low apartment buildings and the night mounted the sky to the east. The girls shivered in their thin coats and I turned up the car heat.

"A word of warning." Wayne scanned the passers-by like he was searching for someone. "Trust no one and tell no one our business. Say we’re here for a vacation. Nothing else. Everyone understand?"

We traversed Broadway. The young people on the street had longer hair than the hippies in Cambridge. Their clothing was ethnic. The girls felt out of place.

"Don’t worry everyone will love you." Wayne kissed the big-bottomed blonde. I could see in the rear-view mirror she only cared about pleasing her 'teddy bear'. Wayne directed me to a parking garage.

"Better to park the car here rather than on the street.”

“Parking tickets?” Boston cops loved sticking violations under the windshield wiper.

“That and car thieves."

“Park it in a lot.” Sookie loved her car.

Wayne paid the attendant for three days. We carried the girls' bags down St. Mark's Place. After Woodstock the hippie movement had deserted the cities, but head shops and clothing stores preserved the Summer of Love in the East Village. Marie and Sookie gawked at the dresses. Young men studied the two girls like they were dirty books to be checked out of a porno shop in the Combat Zone. I held Sookie's hand tight.

"This is Eddie's place." Wayne stopped across the street from the Electric Circus. "He's solid, but don't stare at him. He doesn't like that."

"Why would we stare?" Marie eyed the windows banded by the fire escapes across the face of the five-story building. A few glowed with light. They were on the upper floors.

"You'll see." Wayne climbed the stoop and pressed the buzzer. The door clicked open and we stepped inside the worn-out building. The hallway smelled of cabbage dinners and the stairs creaked under our feet. On the 4rd floor the scent of marijuana overwhelmed the food odors. Wayne knocked on the door of 4A.

“C’mon in.” A man’s voice said loudly. “It’s open.”

Wayne pushed the door and we entered a narrow apartment. The spotless living room was dominated by a TV surrounded by tanks of tropical fish. A huge man sat in a sagging lounge chair. Eddie was the same age as Wayne, but outweighed him by 200 pounds. His face was swollen to the size of a pumpkin and several ever-larger waves of belly sloshed over his torso. His jean overalls had to be specially-made, same as his tee-shirt and shoes.

"Welcome." He made no effort to get out of the chair and lifted his hand in a ‘black power’ fist.

The girls stopped at the entrance. They were in shock.

I was too.

“Brother.” Wayne clasped the bloated hand and introduced us.

“My house is your house.” Eddie indicated the refrigerator. “Help yourself to whatever in it. I sleep in this chair. There’s a bed in the backroom and a fold-out couch in the front.”

A thick curtain hung from that doorframe. It offered little privacy.

“I hosey the bed.” Wayne had first dibs. Eddie was his friend. “Why don’t you girls freshen up in the bathroom? We have some business to discuss.”

Sookie and Marie recovered their teenage cool and disappeared into the back room. Wayne fingered through the record collection on the opposite wall. He pulled out BLIND FAITH to satisfy Marie's Clapton obsession.

"Nice girls." Eddie's comment was tainted by an honest appreciation for their innocence. "All the girls in the Village are old road."

"You have a girlfriend?" Wayne asked at the Dual 1245 turntable. The Bozak speakers were coupled with a Fisher amplifier and Marantz pre-amp. The system was top of the line. Eddie had money.

"No, but I have lots of customers." A sofa was shoved against the wall. "Please sit down."

"Thanks." I held onto the armrest to keep from slipping into the sofa’s valley.

“Sorry, I’m a little hard on furniture.” Eddie pulled a brick of reefer from his shirt. Sweat dampened the plastic covering.

“No hiding place better than under fat. I never had a cop give me a full body search.”

“When was the last time you stripped naked?” Wayne lowered the stylus onto CAN'T FIND MY WAY HOME.

“Last month my mother came over and washed me for the best part of an hour. She found an ounce of blow under my hip flap." Eddie reached under his left breast for a cellophane packet. "You want some."

"Sure, but let's keep it away from the girls. They go crazy on the stuff." For a fat guy Wayne was much hipper than most of my other friends. "You've never done blow?"

I shook my head.

"What was Eric Clapton singing about on SPOONFUL?"

"Cocaine.” I wasn’t that square. "Willie Dixon 'getting a spoonful' was sex, although the origin of the song came from Charlie Paton's SPOONFUL BLUES. I've never done any."

"I'll change that." Wayne deftly cut six lines of white powder onto a small mirror and inhaled two. Eddie snorted two and handed me a straw. The cocaine burned my nose with an alkaloid torch. The majesty of the Inca flowed in my blood.

"Welcome to the world of serious drugs." Eddie stashed the coke inside his shirt.

"Isn't the blow cutting into your eating?" Wayne hid the mirror under the table.

"It's all part of a grand scheme." Eddie melted into the chair. His chest heaved like a whale out of water. "You know how I’ve always dreamed about flying in a glider."

A laugh spurted through my nostrils.

"Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. How's a glider getting into the air with someone as big as me? The answer is that it can't be done, so I have to get smaller." Eddie lifted his pants from his waist, revealing an overlap of flesh. "I've already lost a bunch of weight. I figure if I keep doing coke, I'll get down to 250 by the 4th of July."

"That's 200 pounds in six months." Wayne hadn’t stepped on a scale in years. I guessed his weight at 250. Eddie was aiming at losing almost one Wayne or two Sookies. I was 170.

"Or 35 pounds a month." Eddie tapped his left nostril and inhaled a white line of powder. "The only other choices are to undergo a drastic surgery to staple my stomach shut. It's a new technique and more than 5% of the patients die from complications. It's illegal in the US, but a Russian doctor will do it in Moscow for $20,000. My mother would lend me the money, but I figure for $15,000 the cocaine will take off the same amount of weight and I don't have to travel. You know I don't like to travel."

No airplane, train, or bus were equipped with seats his size.

"That's an ounce a week." Wayne was also good at math.

"I can handle it." He lurched forward with the grace of a whale trying to roll off a beach and pointed to the fish tanks. "I've been watching those fish ever since I got fat. I been telling myself I'll float like them one day, but not with this body. I'll have to lose that 200 pounds."

We wished him good luck and discussed our deal. His pot was better than most in Boston. Wayne later haggled the price down to $150 and convinced Eddie to front us each another pound. The profit on my sales would pay for a deposit on an apartment. Moving to Boston would make my life easier for school and work, plus give me someplace to take Sookie.

"Then it's a deal."

The girls emerged from the bedroom; Marie as a lost flower child in fringed suede and Sookie a futuristic space vixen in midnight blue leather pants and a white silk shirt. Marie had worked magic on her friend’s gaunt face and Sookie radiated an untainted purity.

"Wow." I kept my compliment simple.

"You girls will fit into the East Village fine."

"Then let's go." Sookie hadn't come New York to sit in an apartment.

Wayne conducted us on a tour of the East Village. We drank chocolate egg creams at the Gem Spa and watched a French film CANNABIS at a 2nd Avenue movie theater. The girls bought clothing at several stores and we ate a bowl of borsch at a kosher dairy bar. Sookie had a cup of tea. No milk. No sugar. Wayne brought us to her sister's place on Avenue A. It was a small one-bedroom.

Jolee had just finished a tour as a Marine nurse in Viet-Nam. None of us asked her about the War and she didn’t tell any stories. Her hair was short and a white tee-shirt suited a body honed by boot camp. There were weights in the corner. She sat between the two girls. If she was a man, I would have forced her to stop touching Sookie.

“Jealous?” Sookie asked on the walk back to Eddie’s place.

"Saddest thing in the whole wide world is to see your baby with another girl." Even more people were on St. Marks.

"I don't like girls. Not that way." She linked her arm into mine. "But I like flirting to get you jealous."

"Thanks." I had fallen for her trap like a 13 year-old boy.

"You're welcome." She kissed my cheek. I felt good. A band of Hare Krishnas canted their one-chorus song in front of the Gem Spa. Their smiles seemed to have been lifted from God. I picked up two bottles of Liebefraumilch at the St. Mark’s Liquor Store. Sookie liked white wine.

The four of us entered Eddie's building. He slept in the chair. I put the wine in the refrigerator. Wayne and Marie went into their room. The door shut with a click. It was past midnight. I held the curtain aside for Sookie and undressed on the sofa bed. She lay down in her clothes.

"What's wrong?" This trip was supposed to be our honeymoon.

"I can't get naked with him in the other the room." She dropped her voice to an almost sub-sonic level.

"He can't see us." I pulled off my boots.

"But he can hear us and I can hear him. Listen." She cocked her head to the side.

Eddie's breathing was only slightly human.

"It's sounds like he's trying to suck all the air in the room." Sookie covered her ears with a pillow.

"Does he scare you?" Eddie seemed harmless to me.

"When I was a kid, I went to the circus with my family." She slid across thin mattress. "They had a freak show. A bearded lady, a midget, but what scared me was this fat man on a chain. Sometimes he lunged for children.”

“And he looked like Eddie?”

Sookie nodded with half-closed eyes. Her fear dated back to childhood.

"Eddie’s not a freak." I hugged her tight. "And no one's will hurt you as long as I'm here."

"Good."

We slept in our underwear. Her body was skin and bones. We didn’t have sex. Tomorrow night I’d get a hotel room. It would be our honeymoon suite. Hippie girls liked romantic and so did I.

WHEN FAT MEN FLY by Peter Nolan Smith Chapter 1

Fat people were a rarity in 1970. Jonathan Winters was the only one appearing on TV, none resided in my neighborhood south of Boston, and only a few attended my university. I had one fat friend. His name was Wayne. He made me laugh, but I never thought of him as fat.

Chubby, but not fat.

We worked at a chain discount store next to the Quincy Shipyard. Our duties consisted of restocking the cosmetic aisles with mouthwash, shampoo, deodorants, and toothpastes. This job required little physical exertion and even less mental strain, which suited the 22 year-old Bronx native just fine. My parents had higher expectations for their second son and one December afternoon I asked Wayne, “You deserve more from your life than working at this dead-end job?”

“Don’t knock it. The salary covers my needs. No one gives me any shit, plus if God expected me to make something of my life, he would have given me a rock star’s body instead sticking me with one better suited for a sumo wrestler.” Wayne weighed over 250 pounds and his heart problem exempted of the draft. He was the only employee without a store uniform. None of light blue shirts were sized for XXX.

“Too bad you weren’t born in Japan. Sumo wrestlers are honored in Japan."

“Then I’d have to eat raw fish.” Wayne shivered with revulsion and handed me a box to load onto a cart. Perspiration stained his shirt. It didn’t take much for him to sweat.

“I ate whale once. A fish shop in Haymarket Square fried it for sandwiches. The meat tasted better than beef."

“That’s almost cannibalism. Whales are mammals.” He cleaned his smudged glasses with a paper towel. “You wouldn’t eat Flipper, would you?”

“No and I only ate whale once.”

“Glad to hear it.” Wayne walked the cart into the store. “Are you coming over after work?”

“I really should get home.” I had several chapters to read for my German 101 exam.

My parent’s house was nine miles away. No buses ran to my hometown from the store. Hitchhiking could take two hours.

“I’ll get my old man to give you a ride.” Wayne’s stepfather worked the late-shift at Shipyard. “I have the new Love LP.”

“Okay, but just for a little while.” I loved Arthur Lee and figured that Kafka’s DAS URTEIL could wait till midnight.

The store closed at 9. We tramped up the hill to his street. Thousands of stars swam in winter sky. Wayne huffed every step of the way. It was a good thing he didn’t smoke cigarettes.

Wayne lived in a double-decker house with his parents. His mother was hillbilly thin and his stepfather was a sliver of muscle and bones. He welded steel plates on Navy ships. Wayne gave the old man three bottles of Boone’s Farm and his mother $30 every payday. The rest of his income was spent on his extensive record collection.

“How was work?” His mother was happy to see us.

“Work sucked.” Wayne spoke his mind with his mother.

“Better than sitting on a park bench.” His mother reheated meat loaf and mashed potatoes for us.

They tasted good after the cold.

Wayne ate two helpings.

After dinner we went upstairs to his room. It accommodated a bed, table, two chairs, a sofa, black-and-white TV, and a stereo. The windows overlooked the Fore River. His Pioneer stereo system was light-years ahead of my parents’ Zenith Hi-Fi. Nearly 2000 LPs were alphabetically stacked against one wall according to genres. Wayne picked up a double LP from his coffee table and pushed back his greasy long hair. He never used a comb.

“You know I could steal records out of the store real easy.”

“I don’t want any trouble and I got money for records.” Wayne unwrapped the plastic from Love’s OUT HERE and placed the 33 on his turntable. The first song was SIGNED DC. I had heard it once on WBCN.

“I’ll do it then.” I owed him a good Christmas present.

“Don’t be stupid.” Wayne joined me on the sofa and lit up a joint.

“I won’t be stupid.” I should have realized that ’stupid’ was every 18 year-old boy’s middle name.

The next morning I had my final exam of the semester. I needed the full two hours to fill out everything I knew about Kafka in the booklet. I could speak German, but my spelling in that language was as bad as it was in English. I was counting on my teacher’s warm heart to keep from failing.

Professor Klein knew my high school teacher, Bruder Karl. They both hailed from Bavaria. I handed in my test and wished Fraulein Klein ‘wieher geburtstag’. The next day of school wasn’t until January 10.

My results came in the mail a few days later. I had passed all my courses and Professor Klein gave me a C- in German. I was safe from the draft board for another six months, yet my parents were not pleased with the results and I promised to improve next semester. There was still two weeks till Christmas and the store needed extra help for the holiday, so I worked double shifts Monday to Saturday. Wayne was also pulling overtime.

Three days before Christmas we punched out at closing. He buttoned up a thick overcoat with a fake fur collar and pulled a cheap Chinese Army cap with flaps onto his head. I had on a ski parka, jeans, and Fyre boots. As we passed the records department, I grabbed two LPs; Wes Montgomery’s A DAY IN THE LIFE and the Mother’s of Inventions’ FREAK OUT.

“You said you weren’t doing anything stupid.” Wayne waddled toward the exit. He moved fast for his size.

“No one’s will stop us.” I waved to the two girls at the cash registers. They were counting out the night’s take. Marie was sweet on Wayne. Sookie was skinnier than the super-model Twiggy, but 20 year-old girls weren’t so interested in younger boys.

“You’re on your own.” Wayne pushed open the glass door. Snow fell in clumps. The air was cold and he cursed under his breath, “Shit.” "What?"

"It's Pizzaface."

The twenty year-old assistant-manager was trailing us out of the store. The title added 30 cents to the pock-marked twenty-year's hourly wage.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm holding weed." Possession was a felony in the State of Massachusetts. A station wagon pulled out of its spot and I flicked the LPs under a black 1965 Thunderbird.

“Stop right there,” the assistant manager shouted from twenty feet behind us.

“What for?” Wayne’s words turned to frozen mist.

“I saw you steal those records.” The assistant-manager eyed our hands and looked under the cars.

“What fucking records?” Wayne was tough for a fat boy, then again his older brother ran with a biker gang in Pomona.

“You can’t talk to me like that?” The assistant-manager stepped within Wayne’s reach.

“I can talk anyway I want once I punched out of work.”

“Tell me where those records are or you’re both fired.” The assistant-manager’s voice peaked an octave.

“Then fire me.” Wayne bumped into the skinny 20 year-old’s chest.

“That’s assault.” The assistant-manager spun toward the store and slipped on the snow, hitting the ground face first. Both of us laughed, as the assistant-manager scrambled to his feet like a duck running on ice. Blood streamed from his nose.

“You think that’s funny. I’m calling the cops.” He stomped off to the store.

“It was funny.” Wayne pointed to the T-bird. “Get those records.”

“Are we giving them back?"

“We’re getting rid of the evidence.

"This is the first time I stole anything."

"It should be the last too. You're a horrible thief." He walked off to his house. "You take the back way to my place.”

I crawled under the car and grabbed the LPs. I brushed the snow off then and ran from the parking lot in a crouch. Wayne was waiting on his porch. He checked the street for the cops and then ushered me inside. His mother had food on the table; a tuna-and-cheese casserole.

Wayne said nothing about the LPs.

His step-father arrived after dinner and watched HARPER’S VALLEY PTA on the TV. He had worked a double-shift. A cigarette died between his fingers and Wayne plucked the smoldering butt out of the old man’s fingers. His mother waved for us to leave and we climbed the stairs to his room.

“Merry Christmas.” I handed him the two records.

“Thanks.” Wayne laid FREAK OUT on the turntable and I loaded the bong with Panama Red. We listened to HELP I’M A ROCK in a reefer haze and harmonized to the chorus. The check-out girls arrived an hour later. Marie threw off her long sheepskin coat and sat on Wayne’s lap. Her friend, Sookie, stood in the corner like she had a curfew.

“You guys are lucky.” Marie’s big breasts were popping out of her store uniform. Some boys might have called her chubby. To Wayne she was the new Jayne Mansfield. He liked his girls big.

“Lucky how? We got fired.” No one in my family had been fired in two generations.

“The assistant manager wanted to call the cops.” The blonde cashier had graduated from Weymouth High School last summer. Her job at the store was full-time. She had planned on attending beautician school in the summer. Her make-up was impeccable. “He said you beat him up. I told the manager that you hadn't stolen any records and he had slipped on the snow. The manager ordered him back to work.”

“So we’re not fired?” I was counting on my Christmas check.

“No, you’re fired all right.” Marie grabbed the bong out of my hands. “What’s that shit on the stereo?”

“The Mothers of Invention.” Wayne hummed two bars of the melody.

“You guys are really high.” Her favorite LP was Pink Floyd’s WISH YOU WERE HERE.

“I guess so.” Wayne rose from the couch.

“Hi.” Sookie settled on the sofa next to me. Her eyes sparkled within kohl-blackened make-up and her mouth glowed with pale pink lipstick. Small gold loops hung from her earlobes and she twirled a long strand of brown hair.

“Hi.”

“Anyone want to hear anything special.” Wayne had been to Woodstock. He was our music guru. The next record was IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY followed by Dave Mason’s ALONE TOGETHER and Pink Floyd’s WISH YOU WERE HERE.

At midnight Sookie offered to drive me home. My town was five miles away. I said sure and we crept downstairs. Wayne’s stepfather snored in front of the TV. Out on the porch Sookie motioned for me to wait, while she fetched the car.

“She’s a nice girl.” Wayne blew into his hands. The temperature was below freezing.

“Yeah.” She was nice. I must have seemed worried, because Wayne asked, “What’s the problem?”

“My parents will kill me.” I was a shoplifter.

“Don’t tell them a thing.” Wayne bounced on his feet to keep warm.

“What about money?” I needed cash for school.

“My friend drives cab in Boston. You can make twice as much hacking a taxi.”

Snowflakes floated in the dark. Headlights approached the house.

“What about you?” I had fucked up his job.

“You did me a favor. I’ll sign on unemployment and after Christmas we can hitchhike down to New York. We’ll buy a pound or two, take the bus back, and sell ounces for fast cash.”

My Calculus 101 professor had given me a D+, but I was good at simple math. Ounces sold for $20 at my college. A pound cost $150. The profit was $170.

“Count me in.” I pulled on my gloves.

A tan ’65 LeMans skidded to a halt. The convertible was a present from Sookie’s parents for her 20th birthday. They came from Hingham. It was a town with money. I sat in the passenger’s seat.

“You two have a safe ride home.” Wayne winked at Marie’s friend.

“I passed driving school with top honors.” Sookie drove with both hands on the steering wheel. Her car had good heat. We made out in the Blue Hills, a forested reserve surrounding my neighborhood. Her body was unearthly thin. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her eat food. My hands fumbled beneath her silk shirt to encounter a lace bra and panties. She pushed me to the other side of the car.

“Not now.” It was almost 1 am.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” My hands were warm from her flesh.

“Going to Vermont with my parents.” The dashboard lights illuminated her face with an angelic glow.

“Oh.” Her holiday plans left me out of the picture.

“What you doing for New Year’s?” Her question begged an invitation.

“Maybe go to New York with Wayne.” I wasn’t saying why.

“I’ve never been to New York.” She backed the car out of the dirt road, the ties spinning on the fresh snow.

“I’ve been once with my parents and older brother in 1962. We stayed at the Hotel Manhattan, ate at Tad’s Steakhouse, rode to the top of the Empire State Building, and saw the Rockettes.”

“I always dream about New York.”

“Really?”

“Sure, it has to be better than here. ”

“What’s wrong with Boston?” I liked Paul’s Mall, Durgin Park, and the Boston Club.

“Nothing other than it’s a small town and this town is even smaller. The only thing to do is make-out in the woods.”

“I like making-out in the woods.”

“I’m sure you do.” She shifted the car into drive and headed toward Route 28. My neighborhood was off that road. “But you can’t tell me you don’t dream about living someplace where people have fun. Where they don’t go to sleep after dinner. Where they never sleep.”

“I used to lay on my backyard praying for a UFO to take me to someplace like that.” The suburbs had been claustrophobic for me as a 10 year-old.

“Then if you let me drive you to New York, this car can be the UFO.” She turned on the radio.

“This isn’t a sight-seeing trip.” WBCN played Fairport Convention’s MATTY GROVES.

“I know, but we won’t be any trouble.”

“We?”

“I’m sure Marie will come too.”

“I’ll have to talk with Wayne.” A ride was certainly preferable to thumbing on the highway.

In front of my house Sookie kissed me with thin lips. I felt her flat breasts and imagined more in New York. I had no idea where we would stay. Hotels weren’t cheap. Maybe $20 a night.

Early the next morning I phoned Wayne from school. He had been out of bed an hour. His mother had made him breakfast. Unemployment agreed with him.

“The girls want to come along.”

“Cool, we can stay at Eddie’s. He’s my brother’s friend. We went to Woodstock together.” Wayne was as proud of going to Woodstock as if he had flown to the moon. “Eddie deals pot out of his apartment in the East Village. We’ll crash with him. It’s around the corner from the Fillmore East. We can go to a show. This will be fun. We’ll go two days before New Years.”

He hung up and I hitchhiked over to the store. The manager gave me a check minus the price of two LPs. He didn’t lecture me and I didn’t argue. I took a bus to the Fields Corner T station and then the Red Line train into Boston. Checker Cab Company was located behind Boston Arena. They hired me in a second. The cut was 55/45 off the meter. Tips were your own. I gave the union steward $10 to join the Teamsters. I called my mother and informed her about the new job without mentioning my shoplifting.

“It’s easy than working at the store and pays more money.”

“Is it safe?” She was concerned about the increasing number of hold-ups.

“The dispatcher says those robberies were blown out of proportion.” He said never drive into Roxbury after 11pm.

That night I drove taxi until 2am. My last two rides were into the ghetto. Both fares were so grateful for the ride that they tipped a dollar each. My take was $45 from fares and another $15 in gratuities. I stayed the night with my friend Nick. The sophomore from Staten Island was a sophomore at my university. We had met in European History 101. His apartment was on Commonwealth Avenue in Brighton. I slept on the sofa. In the morning I mentioned the upcoming trip to New York.

“You can come out and visit on Staten Island.” His father was a doctor. Nick was in our university’s pre-med program. His grades were better than mine. “The ferry is only a quarter back and forth.”

“Cool.” That was a good price.

That afternoon Nick departed for New York in his Mini-Cooper. He lent me the keys to his apartment. The work schedule for Checker Cab was loose. Drivers worked as much or as little according to their needs. I drove taxi every night to finance a pound of pot.

Wayne and I had already lined up enough customers to sell half the pot on our return. Sookie came over to see Aerosmith at the Hi-Hat Lounge. She had received an 8-track player for Christmas. I gave her CLOUDS by Joni Mitchell and CIRCLE GAME by Tom Rush along with a silver necklace. Driving taxi paid better than working at a store.

Aerosmith put on a monster show for almost 300 fans. The bartender was my friend. He gave us free drinks. Sookie danced to several songs. The lead singer checked her out. He liked skinny girls. Walking to her LeMans I asked, “You have a good time?”

“I love the band.” She held my hand. Hers was icy cold.

“So Boston’s not so bad?”

Sookie and I had the sidewalks to ourselves.

“It’s better than my hometown, but it’s not New York.” She took the car keys out of her fringed purse. There was no hesitation in this gesture.

“You want to stay the night?” Nick’s apartment was around the corner.

“I can’t.” She pushed me away from the LeMans. “I’m leaving for Vermont in the morning.”

“Then I’ll wait for New York.”

Christmas I rode the subway to Ashmont and the trolley to Lower Mills. My older brother picked me up at the station. My family was happy to see me. I gave everyone gifts. My mother cooked the world’s best apple pie. My father dealt with the turkey. He liked it a certain way. I handled the vegetables, otherwise they would have come out of the freezer. I ate thirds of everything. My mother gave me a Levi jean jacket and suede Dingo boots.

“Here’s two records.” My father’s hand held the same ones I stole from the store. “I hope I don’t have to buy them again.”

“No, I’m happy with these.” The assistant-manager must have called the house. I was lucky that my mother hadn’t answered the phone.

“Good.” He was a man of few words.

I called Wayne later that evening.

“You know if Sookie is still coming to New York?”

“Marie says yes, but who knows with women?”

"Not me."

Sookie was a woman and I felt very young for the five days before our departure. I was 18.

The Warmth Of Winter

Last Wednesday the weather in New York was a record sunny 76F.

Today is a rainy 40 degrees.

Comm Ave in Boston isn't much better. It's even colder. 36F.

Portland Maine is offering a classic slushy snow freezing temperatures.

Of course winter really winter until you reach the end of Route 1 in Fort Kent, Maine.

20 degrees and snow still falling on a gray Sunday afternoon with every bone in you body begging to be transported to Florida.

If only life was that good.

Instead pile up some dried Xmas trees and set them ablaze.

That's summer in Maine a la winter.

Burning brightly in the night.

Par 4 at the Killing Fields Country Club

Eleven years ago in a move destined to have the late Cambodian despot Pol Pot spinning in his grave _ if he had one _ the former Khmer Rouge cadres in their stronghold of Pailin embraced a plan to cash in on the country's tourism boom and build a golf course. Not that they know much about the game. If football is the beautiful game, to the ultra-Maoist former guerrillas, golf is the mysterious one.

The golf fanatic Prime Minister Hun Sen visited the remote area, traveling more than 100km of rugged dirt road from the nearest city of Battambang, and proposed a golf course for the municipality.

Pailin is perched on the nation's north-western border with Thailand just four hours by road from Bangkok, but up to 10 hours from the Cambodian capital.

Hun Sen was possibly the only country leader in the world to list his golf scores on his website.

Cambodia was so serious about developing golf as an industry that it has appointed a special representative to the Council of Ministers. The former Khmer Rouge are ecstatic.

Once rich in gems and timber, these resources were all but stripped bare by the Khmer Rouge as they tried to finance the remnants of the rebel movement by selling off the country's resouces before the rebels finally conceded to join Hun Sen's government in 1996.

Even journalists don't bother to go Paillin any more since four of its most infamous residents _ former Khmer Rouge leaders Ieng Sary, his wife Ieng Thirith, Khieu Samphan and Nuon Chea _ were arrested on orders from the court set up to try them.

Pailin's biggest draw currently are its mainly Thai-owned casinos, which operators say draw up to 10,000 Thais per month. But thiese gaming houses lie within a quick sprint of the border and more than 12 rough kilometres from Pailin town, so most gamblers drop their money there and go no further. Nor does Pailin have the attractions of other former Khmer Rouge border strong-holds such as Anlong Veng, which at least boasts the makeshift cremation site of the movement's leader Pol Pot and Khmer Rouge military commander Ta Mok's home, complete with war room. So the former hardline communists, who drove the country to destruction in their 1975-79 failed bid to turn the nation into an agrarian utopia bereft of social classes, which left up to 2 million dead, have joyfully embraced a new ideology _ golf.

"We don't understand this game and at the moment it is just a speech by the prime minister, but it would be great for Pailin,'' says local Information Chief Kong Duong, once a Khmer Rouge propaganda chief.

He says he has never seen a golf ball, except on television. "We don't know where we will put [the course], or how big it should be, but the idea is good."

Pailin Tourism Chief So Korng is candid. He freely admits that to him, an iron is for pressing clothes, a wood is something you cut down to make furniture, and Tiger Woods is a place you never go alone or unarmed. But he agrees that the concept is attractive.

''People will have more jobs, and many people inside Cambodia and from overseas will come to visit Pailin and also see our natural attractions like our waterfall, gem shops, mountains and our agricultural programs," he said.

Revenue from the golf course may even pay for a road to the municipality's spectacular, but remote waterfall.

A former soldier who fought the Khmer Rouge in the early 1990s said the now-tamed rebels should also make good caddies.

"I've seen them climb mountains with two B-40 rockets strapped to their backs, so golf clubs should be no problem."

That would be a whole new revolution for a movement better known for its infamous black pajama uniform than plaid and plus fours. But not everyone is convinced. A spokesman for local non-government organization Buddhism for Development says golf was for the rich, and he doubted there will be much trickle-down for the impoverished former Khmer Rouge farmers in the area.

"The former Khmer Rouge are poor. They are too busy farming to have time to play golf," he said. And then there is the image problem. In a 2006 interview a senior Pailin tourism official laughingly admitted that the very concept of tourism remained somewhat alien. ''Before, our orders were to kill them, but now we invite them to visit and please spend money,"

It won't be on the killing fields

President's Golf Day

Mr. Trump's Presidents Day began with a round of golf at Trump International Golf Club (9:09 AM - 1:42 PM)

# 45 claims to have shot a 68 and a 2 shot handicap.

A friend of mine played with the pseudo-billionaire and said, "It's easy to shot good if you do shot-overs or mulligans."

His game was closed to the public and after another 'huge' 18 holes, the Russian double agent lunched at the clubhouse on burgers and fries.

4:00 PM

President Schedule The President and THE FIRST LADY depart West Palm Beach, Florida en route to Washington, D.C. Palm Beach International AirportOut-of-Town Travel Pool

6:50 PM President Schedule The President and THE FIRST LADY arrive at the White House.

Yet another busy day for Mr. Donald.

Jimmy Carter plays golf.

Not much, but I don't play at all.

I celebrated Presidents Day at the 169 Bar.

I shot a 12.

Golf Award Design

I don't this this photo is photoshopped, but it's doesn't represent a cock but a dildo.

This was for women's golf, right?

Remember that old interview of Johnny Carson with Jack Nicklaus' wife.

Johnny - You do anything for good luck before Jack plays.

Wife - I kiss his balls.

Johnny - That must straighten out his putting.

CUT TO Ed McMahon laughing.

George Washington # 1

Three years ago George Washington was voted Britain's greatest enemy commander by a poll over nearly 8000 people held by the War Museum in London, beating out IRA leader Michael Collins, Napoleon Bonaparte, Field Marshal Erwin Rommel and Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey.

Washington's posthumous victory was explained by a prominent historian, “His army was always under strength, hungry, badly supplied. He shared the dangers of his men. Anyone other than Washington would have given up the fight. He came to personify the cause, and the scale of his victory was immense.”

George Washington was unable to attend the award ceremony, but his words on peace live forever.

"There is nothing so likely to promote peace as to be well prepared to meet an enemy." George Washington

Old Friends Never Fade Away

A good college friend re-connected me via Facebook.

We hadn't seen each other in a good 35 years. I remembered our time together at Boston College like it was two weeks ago and wrote him the following message to rekindle the soul connection.

"hank, good to hear from you. I'm living fort greene nyc. I was telling someone just the other night how we used to drive our checker cabs into the combat zone at 1:30 for last call. A long-necked beer and that band in the corner; organ, bass, and drum. Naked girl on stage. Last call. Another beer and then back into the taxi to drive a stripper home. We'd meet back at 15 malbert road for a pizza, more beer, then play table hockey before crashing on the sofas.

"those were the nights." he answered.

And that was the truth.

I've had a good life.

Which I owe to my friends like Hank.

Ban Top Knots

I haven't cut my hair in months. It's growing, but slowly. The front locks almost reach the end of my nose. My hopes of rehippiedom are seemingly only a dream, but if my tresses get long, I will never bun it or put it in a top knot. I'm just not that kind of guy and this look can be mistaken for an overaged stripper, when wearind a headband.

At least that's what I see looking at my friend's head.

Damnation too.

The Nonsense Of Nunes

Last Friday the GOP released a memorandum written by the staff of Republican Congressman Devin Nunes accusin the FBI of using questionable practices to investigate the the Kremlin's interference in the 2016 Presidential election. Security departments throughout the government criticize the release of the unproven document. I tried to read the memo without any success. The writing was indecipherable Washingtonese. No one in the public can read it.

Not me.

Not anyone.

So it is as meaningless as an empty beer can.

Every single word.

BURNT ORANGE HERESY by Charles Williford

I could have taken State Road Seven straight away by picking it up west of West Palm Beach, but because the old two-lane highway was used primarily by truck traffic barreling for Miami's back door, into Hialeah, I stayed on U.S. 1 all the way to Boynton Beach before searching for a through road to make the cutover. I got lost for a few minutes and made several aimless circles where new blacktops had been crushed down for a subdivision called inappropriately Ocean Pine Terraces (miles from the ocean, no pines, no terraces), but when I finally reached the state highway, it was freshly paved, and the truck traffic wasn't nearly as bad as I had expected.

The rain, mercifully, had stopped.

The Burnt Orange Heresy. New York: Crown Publishers, 1971. Willeford's first hardcover original.

In The Burnt Orange Heresy, the critic -- James Figueras -- gets a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to interview a reclusive French “Nihilist surrealist” named Jacques Debierue. A collector tells Figueras where he can find Debierue, asking only one thing in return for the information -- that Figueras steal one of Debierue’s paintings for him. In fact, thanks to a variety of circumstances (e.g., a fire that destroyed much of his work), not a single one of Debierue’s paintings is known to exist; his reputation as an artist is entirely due to earlier critics’ interpretations of his work over the years. Figueras agrees to steal the painting, knowing that if he can interview Debierue and see some of his work, he could then write an article that would firmly establish his own international reputation as an art critic.

What follows is a gripping, dense plot that includes several twists readers won’t necessarily anticipate. In order to execute his plan, Figueras ends up having to bluff several people -- his girlfriend, the art collector, Debierue, among others. In the end, the novel puts forth the idea that all art is in a way a kind of bluff. As is art criticism. And everything else, really.

MIAMI VICE

I never bothered to see MIAMI VICE. The movie.

Guns, girls, and crime. Tubbs and Crockett.

I had been to that Miami Beach; Wolfie's Deli, Little Havana, the Ace of Spades Bar, cocaine, cheap hotels, and fast boats. My friend found a kilo of blow on the beach and gave it to the local drug dealer rather than the cops.  Miami PD was stressed on steroids and zoot. Columbian cowboys weren't as twitchy. The city was fun as long as you could stand adrenalin rushes.

It's gone now. Trendy. The height of uncool.

My local bootleg DVD dealer came into the bar two nights ago and offered, "MIAMI VICE. 100% ching."

New movies usually took a month to get a good copy.

"No, I don't want it."

"I saw it at the movies." My friend Nick volunteered.

"I don't need to see it. In fact I can tell you all about it without seeing it." Feature remakes of TV shows were formula plotlines tied together by senseless scenes of violence and FX.

"200 baht says you're wrong." Nick liked betting. 200 baht would cover the tickets for him and his girl. 200 for me was a phone card for my wife. I was confident and said, "It's a black/white guy thing. The white guy has long hair. The black guy razored to the skull. Both have face hair."

"You've seen the trailer."

"No, just the ad."

"The good guys always hit their target."

"Bad guys never shot straight in the movies." Nick was after specifics.

"The good guys have to infiltrate a drug gang led by a acne-scarred gaucho."

"Half-right. The leader is a girl. Beautiful too."

"White guy always gets the chick."

"There's a car chase that turns into a bat chase where no one gets caught."

"Not really."

"They say that they're losing the war on drugs." I didn't have a clue about the plot.

"Not a chance."

"Or that they should legalize blow."

"Give me the 200."

I had lost the bet, but knew also that MIAMI VICE was going to be given a a miss, especially since I had SCARFACE at home and nothing says Miami in the 80s like Tony Montana and yeh-ho.

Heaven or Hell

Two old men are living in Miami Beach. Their hotel is undergoing renovations. The entire neighborhood has been transformed by young people. Izzy and Moishe sit on the terrace of the Breezemore Hotel and watch the parade of revelers. They are feeling their age and Izzy says, "You know Moishe, we've had a good life, but I've been wondering about what's next?"

"What's next is we die. One of us first the other second." Moishe was more pragmatic than his friend. He had been an accountant. Number added up to a total sum. No more. No less.

"What about Sheol?" Izzy had been a lawyer. He still believe in good and evil. His wife Miriam had been good. Her mother was evil incarnate.

"A bleak afterlife, feh?" Moishe was too pragmatic to be pessimistic.

"What about Olam Ha-Ba?"

"The world to come where we are rewarded for our good deeds. Feh. And Gan Eden is a fairy tale."

"But what if there really is a heaven and hell?"

"I don't know." Moishe had no questions, but there was always doubt, especially at the age of 87. "Listen, I tell you what, if one of us ides and there is a heaven or hell, the one who dies should come back to tell the one staying whether there is a heaven or hell. Is it a deal?"

"For you, anything." The two friends went back to 1st grade in Brownsville.

Neither man thinks anything about the oath until Moishe dies two weeks later.

"At least he went in his sleep." Izzy tells the children who are transporting the body back up north. No one gets buried in Florida. The ground is tref.

A week goes by, then another. A month and then more.

A year to the day of Moishe's passing, the curtains of Izzy's windows billow inward without a breeze. The temperature was in the 80s, but the room is freezing. Moishe can see his breath and asks, "Izzy, is that you?"

"Of course it's me, who else were you expecting?" The voice sounds like it's coming from across the universe.

"Only you, so tell me, are you in heaven or hell?" Moishe is eager to hear the answer, since then he can tell Izzy that he was wrong about heaven and hell.

"Neither."

"Neither?" Moishe hadn't expected this response. "So what do you do all the time?"

"I eat, I fuck, I eat, I fuck, I eat, I fuck, and then I go to sleep."

"Well, aren't you in heaven?"

"No, I'm a rabbit in Montana."