Paul was cleaning resin out from under his fingernails while
I was transfixed by Dada.  During the night, the Fuseli and the
last of the Bosch had been replaced by  Ernst's "Oedipus Rex" and
Miro's "Harlequin's Carnival".  
     "Paul," I said, "I like the Ernst but Miro leaves me cold."
     Paul stamped out a cigarette and said, "Yeah, too many
postcards, too little time."
     "Strange, though," I said, "Miro's world."
     "Yes," said Paul,  "it's a world teeming with vaguely
bimorphous creatures."
     "Hallucinatory."
     "Paper, liquid, fungi?" Paul offered.
     Too early to dose, I instead explored the Ernst.  "That *has*
to hurt," I said, observing the pierced forefinger.
     Paul explained, "In Ernst, the collocation of irregular
elements creates absurd visions, rich in unconscious and dream
associations."
     "Paul, you scare me.  You *really* scare me."
     "Art, Rich.  It's not just for breakfast anymore.  Wanna take
a little trip?"
     "Paper, liquid, fungi?"
     "Better.  *Northern* Exposure."
     "Huh?"
     "There's a motherlode waiting for us in Alaska."
     "Gold rush?"
     "The lottery."
     "But I'm al*ready* stoned."
     "No, tomorrow's the day when everyone who lives in Alaska
receives a state dividend.  About a thousand bucks."
     "Sweet," I said,  "but what's in it for us?"
     "Well, instead of saving the money or doing home repairs,
everyone blows it.  Fast."
     "And...?"
     "Just start bagging, Rich."
     "Gotcha.  Ain't nothin' but a G thang."
     Later that day, we caught a flight to Anchorage.  Paul had
made a room reservation in Spennard.  It was the kind of hotel
where people *lived*.  For $120 a week, we had a double room,
doughnuts in the morning, ham on rye and Campbell's soup at lunch,
and round the clock fruit bowl.  I've never been so regular!
     In the room, we started unpacking.  Paul likes to travel(and
weigh) light.  Bare necessities:  triple-beam, doc dentons,
flowbee, toothbrush and Colgate MFP, Smith & Wesson 9
mm(registered--not), stash, Mossberg doorjamb, and a belt.
     I travelled even lighter:  _Delta of Venus_ and _Little Birds_,
well-thumbed.  Also John McPhee's _Coming Into the Country_.
     "So when's the action start?" I said.
     "Gotta call my contact.  Let him know I'm here."  Paul placed
a call and this is what I heard:
     "Donneroto?  Yeah...Yeah...Six...K...Cerumen...Maxed...Ten
A.M?...Conestoga...No!...You bet.  Rad."
     Then he explained.  "I hope you like green peppers on your
pizza.  Now I'm gonna call my contact.  Please vacate."
     The next day a large package arrived.  Paul was excited.  
     "Right on time," he said.  "Let's make some money."
     "What's in the package?"
     "Aqua-Net.  High alcohol content.  They'll love it."
     Paul later made his connections.  We unloaded the weed and
hair product--I even sold _Delta of Venus_ for $500.  Paul scored
eight large and treated me to a tour of Denali.  Saw my first
moose.  Fucked her, sure.  Paul even let me keep the shoe horn and
shower cap from the hotel!
     "So what'd you think of Alaska?" said Paul, on the flight
back.
     "Great time, glad we didn't get popped."
     "Death Rizow's the label that pays me."

a RICHH/Paul joint