4 - 2020 "Vote!" PEACE!

        I was high from the ride, this place was like a pre-roll joint roach fest, every two blocks another smoke down ashtray exhibit. Hell, you could get cbd in the magazine cut outs and  straight by re-roll ease the pain of any foul kit crazy train. This night I would savor.

        Most days of 24 hours I slept none, others less than four. The way it was when I slept, open air with nothing but my sandals, my clothing and the surf to soothe it was a crapshoot what I awoke to. Very few times I had the fortune of waking up with exactly what I started with, both more and less.

        Possession of weed here being completely legal, tourists came from all over to bask in common sense for leisure. It needed a boost for them to take back with them. The movement needed a motto, something this public underground could remember. I thought of it, and delivered til dawn waking in its insidious rays.

        I had new designer jeans, fit to my cut, worth more than my phone. I had Isaac Asimov's collared blue and white shirt on, with a loose neck ribbed undershirt beneath and sandals. My pack was gone, along with my wallet, changes and otherwise worldly stuff.

        Walking the walk, I began talking the talk. I would demonstrate for peace in a pro-active voter stance, prying legalization of marijuana from it's back pages and mixing it with culture.

        At 8am the tourists began to emerge towards the ocean front. I did a test run of my chops.

       A talented vocalist and dancer I had rehearsed day and night since arriving. I had lost 80 pounds by the end of it, and I was as quick to a beat as the beat down that escaped me. It is the self same move of the swami  who greeted me at my entrance now forewarned far north that I had so admired since first I met him, a decade and more ago. He was, is, and always will rock the vote to top the scales beyond most in that locale.

  

Harry Perry

        I stood and stretched, in a relatively surreal daze. I then cleared the fog and began.

        Understand that when I screamed, mixed with the guitar on roller blades shifting that the echo in our consciousness shifted violently all the way through the city.

       "4 - Twenty Twenty vote; peace!"

        I would dance, stop in pose, shout it out and then freeze in inanimate gesture. I did so for hours, in fact so long I did not get my voice back figuratively as well as literally for a week. I considered it a great civil service, one that was such as laying my hands on the gears of the system so lethally maladjusted. At the height of the afternoon on my 8th mile, I laid down in front of an oncoming firetruck, not on call, and they stopped and all got out. I constantly, all day held two fingers up for "...peace!" Everybody then, and my next hour all gathered around and took pictures and video.

        

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