“Yeah...?” This was better than nothing, that was for sure. Still, though the necessities of the moment had distracted him, he had not realized until now just how much he had been longing for his true home. “Suppose so. Is there stuff to do?”
“To do?” Uendrijj laughed. “Aye, much and much. There are places to see
— the febrile and primitive swamps of Baahyo, the glittering buildings and fragrant alleys of Noj Arleenz and Jhiga-Go. There is music to be heard — I am myself known as something of a harpist, when I am allowed some peace from battle. And women, beautiful women....”
“Women? I did think this whole trip was kinda short on chicks....” He remembered the creature called Harmony, and felt a moment of sweetly painful mourning. “And... and would you teach me to play?”“Certainly,” Uendrijj said, smiling. “Come, take my hand! You shall be my companion, then, Pogokhashman
— the whole multiverse shall know your name ”
But as Pogo’s hand closed about his, Jimi, too, became faint, passing into translucency. The plain on which they stood became dim as well. For a moment Pogo suspected that he and Jimi were merely undergoing more magical travel, but his last diminishing sight showed him that the Gypsy Prince still gripped the hand of another Pogo, who was disappearing along with him as the world fell away....
“Man! That was some intense acid, huh?” Sammy was bouncing around the room like a hamster whose wheel was out for repairs. “You wouldn’t believe what happened to me while you were lying there all out of it! I looked out the window and the mailman looked like some kind of monster! Unbelievable! And the street was, like, bubbling....”
Pogo leaned back in the beanbag nursing a joint. Sammy’s non-stop monologue was as reassuring as the sound of night traffic to a cityMweller.
“Sounds good, man,” he drawled, and stared up from the spots of blood on the soles of his desert boots to the poster of Jimi Hendrix on the wall. Was it really true, then.7 That somewhere in the multiverse an albino guy with a magic sword was remembering his time with Pogo? And, even weirder and cooler, that somewhere else in the multiverse, Jimi — the Man himself — and his new buddy Pogo Cashman were having adventures together?
Sammy put Surrealistic Pillow on the stereo, skipping as always to his favorite song. “One pill makes you larger... ” he tunelessly crooned, anticipating the actual beginning of the vocals by several seconds — something that usually drove Pogo mildly crazy.
“Sounds good, man,” Pogo said, smiling.
Sammy wandered over to take the joint from him, then stood contemplating the poster of Jimi with his white guitar. “I wonder what ‘Stratocaster’ means, anyway?” Sammy said hoarsely, his lungs full of smoke.
“ ‘Cloudhurler’.”
“Cloudhurler?” Sammy stared at him, then belched out a smoky laugh. “Man, you’re too high. Naw, it must have something to do with, like... broadcasting. You know, radio or something.”
“S’pose so,” said Pogo. “Throw me those potato chips, will you?”
“Here.” Sammy dropped the bag into his lap. “Feed your head.” He chuckled. White Rabbit was building toward its chugging climax. “ ‘Feed your head’ — get
“Yeah,” said Pogo. “Got it.”