Hey Chief (3)

   
   "Hey Chief (3)"
   
   Paul was over at Trevor's trailer, the interior decorated by pin-ups of toyland babes in pumps, doing the half-naked body stretch over fancy automobiles and crap like that, but hey--Trevor owned it; on the flip side, Paul remained a bit stoic, having held onto his dandyism, not shaving his gentleman-era mustache, though held a cold Bud in his hand; plus, had a mouthful of mint chaw, but paid no attention to Trevor's perversion with the world, just needed a friend.
   So, as Trevor went on and on about this hot chick he was banging, Paul was blocking him out, pondering how psychiatrists and others attempt to hide the truth, labeling some psychotic, when of course they totally are, yet then those brilliant madmen, seeing into the Otherworld with surgical precision--even better, and knowing they're not mad, but enlightened, holding onto the enchantment that drives them, while the normal folk, like Trevor, are all about the cold six-pack and crummy cable shows, never displaying the true theology of man's mystical intercourse with the unseen, though seen by many, yet only the steeled can handle it, and Paul was about ready to write a letter to the Corinthians, allegorically.