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'Like a Dream'
Mescaline Franklin's American Journey

My soul brother, the man that feels to me like the little brother I never had, because the one I had beat my ass in the ring, and when I go to retail stores people mistake me for Mescaline's father, recently completed his journey from Flushing, Queens, New York to Flagstaff Arizona and back again.

As he comes to town for training, I shall interrogate him, one state at a time, concerning his impressions of these segments of social decay called States.

To welcome him home, Big Ron and I beat him in the head with sticks for an hour this Wednesday morning, so I will endeavor to make up for his sudden inability to write nonfiction by interrogating him on his every visit.

The Mind of Mescaline Franklin

The Awakening of a Paleface Ethnocist

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Sam J.August 4, 2017 4:33 AM UTC

I stopped near, I think, Flagstaff Arizona while driving across the country. There was a purple mountain. I SWEAR. The frigging rocks were purple. I stopped and looked around for a little. So amazing.