Burnt-fly America

Life in an airplane. Monkeys. Five swarthy men approach a telephone booth.
Elmo laughs.
“Give me the purple pill,”one man says to another as his conscience fades and his mind blows softly in the ambient breeze.
“The pill is still in the sill, Will.”
“Groovy. Pop me the weather man.”
“You don’t need the weather, man, to know which way the wind blows.”
South, man, south. High in the 70s by day. 50 and cloudy by night and by Wednesday. Chance of showers.”
Fade in the haze of that psycho-delic daze.