Cell on hip, and a new coat called pee over his shoulders and dragging on the ground, Three-Rivers followed Eddie out of the market, and immediately recognized a fellow prophet! Now that he was outside and away from the dead animal smell he was beginning to get hungry.

The man was very tall and very dark with a moon-colored beard. He wore a straight-tie tuxedo called suit and offered soft picture-books called newspapers and a delicious looking pastry made of beans and smashed up bread called crust. Eddie tried to hold him back from approaching the man. But he did the spinning-step-of-avoiding-a-mother’s-one-armed-restraint-while-she-held-a-baby and glided up to the man, who looked down at Three-Rivers suspiciously, as if he had come with prayerful hands to challenge this man’s medicine.

“Would you like a paper?” he said, pointing to a book he was just trading but obviously did not believe in.

“No holy man. I want your words of prophecy. My people too have suffered the Four-hundred-Winters-of-Woe at the hands of the Whiteman. I would seek the wisdom of the Africans who were freed to kill the Yellow Men.”

Eddie was mumbling once again about human waste behind him. But the Burnt Prophet, was pleased, and proclaimed himself not a prophet but a disciple as he handed Three-Rivers a soft picture-book. “This is The Final Call, the words of the Honorable Reverend Louis Farrakhan. It is free to you my red brother.”

You found your second sign from WhiteSkyCanoe. Now is the time for generosity and good will.

“I am honored Disciple of Farrakhan. Here is one trade note called twenty for a bean pie and a prayer on behalf of my departed Father.”

“That will get you four bean pies, here you go. What is your name Sir, and what is your Father’s name?”

“I am Three-Rivers, son of WhiteSkyCanoe, Prophet of He-Who-Makes-Rivers. Can you please ask him to visit me in my dreams again?”

“I will do it. Walk with Allah in the name of the Honorable Reverend Farrakhan.”

“Thank you Mister Bean Pie. I will distribute three of these two the starving in his name.”

He staggered off with Eddie under the weight of his pies. “Eddie, we have to find some starving people before I drop these pies. They are heavier then they look.”

Eddie was acting nervous as if they were being hunted be enemy warriors or Spanish war-dogs. “No problem there son. Dare’s a wino passed out up against my bike already—en dare you go a smelly dude with a shopping cart full of trash…”

Three-Rivers had a very fulfilling time giving pies and the blessings of Allah and He-Who-Makes-Rivers to these starving fat people who had succumbed to the perils of vision-seeking through beer, and even more potent spirits. These caused him to reflect on his good fortune as Eddie dragged the starving drunk fat man away from his bike.

At least you have not been killed by beer, and have returned from all of your beer visions whole. You may have lost—this is the third sign!

“Eddie, we have to go get beer—I would prefer one-eyed wise-man beer.”

“Dude, are you joking? Do you see what this stuff does?”

“Do not worry Eddie, unlike these unfortunate souls, I have been trained in vision seeking and have become a master of beer-drinking. I’ve pretty much wiped out Mister Epson’s entire cooler of Beer Wiser, Australians for Beer Mating and even the Moon Arrow Beer. These fallen wise men are a sign from Father. I must start my vision quest with beer. After I have fallen sick you will take me to the wilderness where I shall use the medicine of Melted Bead. The ghosts will come for me then, when I can barely dance any longer. When I have regained my powers Eddie, then it will be time to call on the thunderbirds. Let’s rock en roll yo.”

The place of getting beer-visions called drunk was called a lounge, and apparently every nice space-trade had one. This space-trade was called Hyatt Regency. Three-Rivers felt good to be patronizing the establishment of a chief so young that he needed an uncle called regent to look after his affairs. All of his attempts to locate Young Chief Hyatt for an audience were to no avail. But he made many friends among the well-dressed servants in the process.

Unfortunately, because of his age, Three-Rivers could not drink beer or spirits in the lounge—which is obviously where they should be imbibed! So he had to use his vodka for the trick called spike, which he had hoped to save for his vision quest in the wild. He was drinking some powerful ginger ale while Eddie nursed his tea and looked nervously about.

I don’t like this Eddie. I want my old Eddie back.

“Hey Eddie, remember the game of marked bones called dice that sounds like defecating?”

“Yeah, craps. What about it?”

“Are you good at it?”

“Hell yeah! I jus’ los’ all those games ta Randy on purpose so he wouldn’t kill me. I know how ta spin me some nice dice son.”

“Well son, do you see those big fat White Men called business over there—talking about making money with other people’s money? Let’s make their money!”

“You drunk already son. Those dudes don’t roll dice. If you wanna roll dice you need to go out back with da dishwashers and bus boys afer hours—they’ll roll some dice…”

Three-Rivers would later be able to recall sketchy details about the rest of the night, mostly the part about Eddie holding him off the ground like he was swimming and swinging him as he threw dice up against a stepping stone called stair while the evil squirrels of Sunset called rats, who had come to Mother Earth in the Spanish journey houses, skulked beneath the dumpster and watched the game with much interest. This, of course, was a sign.

The Ugly Tail Squirrels are watching you. This is a sign that the squirrels are waiting for your return.