There is a town somewhere in washington state. Every year for three days they baracade the entrance and exit of the town and anyone may do anything they wish there bit harm others or steal.
There are local bands that play, all the bars are wide open and beer flows like water. Hard liquor is forbidden.
I wound up there by chance one time. My dog was welcome in every tavern, fed and played with. I was handed tabs and beer, women got friendly and i began to realize this was all rather hidden and few outsiders knew about the practice.
I cant say the music was great but the people sure were. I slept each night on a grassy hill and walked through the town in a perpetual dream, glass always full, people smiling, talking to my dog (i later found out they knew who he was from an article in the paper).
I was taken on a speed boat for a long trip. I was loaned a trials bike and cruised around with my new friends.
Then, on the fourth morning i awoke on my hill. I had the shakes from so much beer. I was no longer high and my dig and i went into what had become my favorite tavern.
"Get that dog out of here, cant you read the sign?" None of my new found friends spoke to me, the women i had befriended walked away without a word, the local sheriff who had watched us all smoke joint after joint now eyed me suspiciously.
I got breakfast at the same place that had been giving away free burgers just the day before and was treated as though i had just appeared and was traveling on.
It was over. I do not recall the name of the place. But it really happened. During those days my dog had gotten in a fight with a larger dog, there were few such things. My dog had gotten forced into the water and pushed under a speedboat. I had to wade in and savehim from being drowned by the other dog. My hand got slashed, my dog was slashed as well. The owner said he was sorry and bandaged us both.
The bandages were still there.
I finishef my breakfast that morning, hung over and confused.
And then i got in my 1947 willies pick up and drove on.
