Allison was wearing her brother's farmer jeans with the front pockets filled with pennies and wore wampum beads round her neck. She held a venison sandwich in her left hand and gesticulated with it as she walked. The venison was sliced thin with a huge wedge of cheddar cheese and lettuce and mayo on home made brown bread. She gingerly stepped onto bright North Front Street, 144 days of sunshine and no clouds in sight. She pulled up her hood and put on her shades cause the UV was kinda fierce. She was talking to Mellon and Shaun, her posse, about scoring some Dee's. Mellon said “Little Pinky got Dee's and bennies and Blanket Rocks too, but he was gonna want some service”. They didn't have much money. “Funny “ said Allison “how the rest of the world gone to shit but we got Hawaii weather here in Kingston, 70 and sunny every day” They avoided Paradise ally, which had just been paved and had a strong smell of oily macadam, and walked through the community gardens with veggies growing everywhere, huge tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, beans and acres of corn. There were large green watermelons growing from the compost pile. Flies buzzed around the compost where guys in white suites worked. The flies were in such a fury that no one else came near. The white suits had hoods and headgear to protect them. They were Red men, Iroquois, who had been genetically reconstituted during the eugenics experiments. The great red joke was that they had almost immediately been put back on reservations. She could just see the palm trees growing in Gov. Clinton Park over the top of their heads. Near midtown a crowd from the Broadway Mosque were dancing round a tall shirtless black man. He had a ruby in his ear and was cooking eggs on top of an old car. They had beat a perfect oval shaped depression in the roof and had a wood fire blazing underneath. He was chopping onions that glistened in the white sun, he chopped green and red peppers and garlic and tossed it all in, everything was crackling and sizzling. People were swaying and eating omelets and circling round the smoking rusted metal skeleton. A mule train came by with two cars full of fancy dressed up folk who were singing Auld Lang Syne in a low mournfully way. There was a man standing in the front with a wolf's head for a hat, the Rev Billy J. Mitchell. When he looked at you through his dark sunglasses it burnt a hole in you heart. Allison saw Little Pinky across the road, looked like he was limping and he seemed to be talking to himself. “Geeze” she thought, by the time we get to Woodstock half the day ill be gone.