My travels with Charlie--4 real

   
   "My travels with Charlie--4 real"
  
   Print Media bit the bullet, didn't beat it, like that last rock and roll group out of San Francisco, before everything went grunge, and to crap, losing the high frequency of Slash on electric banjo, and this--from a damn Yankee.
   So, I was no longer a District Manager type-of-guy, and had to work the night shift with Henry Winkler; moreover, met a delivery man dubbed CHARLIE--he was a muscular and well-constructed older fella.  He also:  "Never Heard" of anything, if you know what I mean, and--you might.
   So, my Pap didn't have to "Soldier Up" cause he worked on the railroad; however, Charlie "Never Heard" of that--he worked on the railroad; plus, had to fight in WW2.
   So, the papers were heavy that night my friend.  Even the reporters and Mr. Moon himself had to come in and roll the cerebral smoke of newsprint.  After swinging my arm over a V-8 Camaro all night, I entered the warehouse, saw Charlie; next, uttered sorely:  "My arm is killing me from slinging all of those papers.  You gotta be Hercules to throw them."
   He looked at me strangely, asked:  "Who?"
   Me again with:  "Hercules."
   Old dude looked me right in boyish eyes; then, he told:  "Never heard of him."
   Like it was with the Superior Samson, my ropes of common sense melted off like weak wax in the Sunlight.  World was damn bigger than I knew.