Part 3
It is 3:00 a.m. Horns blair, a solo trumpet sounds, painted ladies stroll by my window three stories down. A man sings a rendition of Harry Belafonte’s Day-O . A feminine voice cries out Iyeeeeeee .

On the taxi ride from the S.J.O. airport to downtown , while sitting at a standstill in traffic, a man walks up to the cab holding a colorful string pupett, up to the window glass, pulling on the strings he makes the arms and legs dance, Just the other side of the rain streaked pane.

I chuckle in retrospect recalling words in a dream this, ‘porcipines have soft bellies.

Like human tendancies perhaps, I say Oh I see.
these lessons learned from the balseros the string pupetts through glass, and porcipine belly’s.

Belies us this: In some fashion we as humans always suffer some form of an achilles heel or tendion.

Dance pupett dance, I to am here, I say to the pupeteer, and such behaviour amongst sheer madness.

How much of nothing can one get to know?

These just words , sentiment, meaning. Perhaps so or not.

But, in fact the pupett does dance just the other side of the glass.

I saw him just yesterday. Johnny G.