Tinker and Blue Read Free

the hippie he apologized. “Sorry we have no food to give you. We made a loaf of baloney and mustard sandwiches at a picnic park this afternoon but two hours later they turned green as snot. My mother could cook Sunday dinner in the heat in this part of the country, boy.”
    â€œI don’t eat dead animals,” the hippie replied.
    â€œSo is it hard to take a bite out of a live cow?” Tinker asked, this time snapping Blue in the ribs.
    â€œAll life is sacred, man,” the hippie explained. “Eventually we’ll all know that. The only reason we’re alive is to learn that all life is sacred.”
    â€œBut to stay alive you got to eat,” Blue said, moving into a philosophical mood. “Man can’t live on bread alone, as other fellow says.”
    â€œHave some sunflower seeds,” the hippie offered, digging into his pack and pouring some into Blue’s palm. Tinker declined.
    Blue chewed on the seeds, thinking as he did so that it was about the worst thing he had ever eaten, but his raging appetite wasn’t discriminating. He put his hand over the back seat for more.
    â€œJust what a guy would need after a hard day in the coal mine, Tink. A handful of sunflower seeds. Who could think of roast beef after a feast like this,” he remarked as he began chewing again.
    â€œYou eat a lot of meat, man?” the hippie asked.
    â€œThree times a day where we come from, bacon and eggs in the morning, beans and baloney at dinner and hamburg and potatoes for supper. Chicken on Sunday,” Blue mumbled, his mouth full.
    â€œThat’s a lot of bad karma, man,” the hippie warned.
    The storm raged over them in a series of frightening flashes and thunder claps.
    â€œNature, man! Wow!” the hippie remarked from the back seat. “This your guitar, man?” he asked, shifting to make himself comfortable among the baggage and garbage that was collecting there. The Plymouth had an acre of trunk with a hole in its floor almost as large, so the back seat served as a closet for Tinker and Blue as well as a crowded bed for one of them who wanted to sleep while the other drove.
    â€œYeah,” Blue answered, rising out of a lazy haze of half thoughts that had overcome him. “I like to pick a little country once in awhile. I write my own songs, you know.”
    â€œCountry? Country Joe and the Fish, man. Yeah. I know where you’re coming from. They’re far out, man.”
    â€œDo they play the Opry?” Blue asked, trying to place the unfamiliar name.
    â€œThey play everywhere, man,” the hippie replied from somewhere that sounded like the edge of sleep.
    They were coming out the back end of the storm. Blue was humming the tune to “The Red Lobster,” looking for more elusive lyrics. Tinker treaded the highway well below the speed zone, scouting the ditches for turtles.
    Sometime later, Blue woke to the hippie’s voice, excited by the rising dawn.
    â€œMornings, man. I love the morning. Let me out up ahead. I’m going to have a sun shower.”
    â€œIf I go up to Canada, I’ll look you up,” the hippie promised as he slipped himself and his pack out of the back seat to stand on the shoulder of the road.
    â€œJust turn right at Toronto and you can’t miss us,” Blue said, walking around to the driver’s side to relieve Tinker who climbed into the back seat for a snooze.
    â€œPeace, man,” the hippie said, raising the two-fingered salute that accompanied the salutation.
    Tinker and Blue lifted fingers awkwardly in reply and drove off down the road.
    â€œWhaddya think of your first hippie, Blue?” Tinker asked, shifting bags and the guitar case to make a nest for himself.
    â€œI wouldn’t touch a drug after meeting that guy, Tinker. Give me a beer any day. What do you think happens to you when you smoke that stuff?”
    â€œAhh, Christ,” Tinker said suddenly. “That