Coconut Cowboy Read Online Free PDF

another bowl in the luggage compartment. “I mean morning, noon and night, coast to coast, blazing fat ones with everyone they met, listening to righ­teous music, munching out, then torching up again before driving to meet new ­people with their own weed, passing more doobies until they all finally fell asleep. Then they’d wake up and do the same thing again, day after day. Why don’t they still make movies with great plots like that?”
    â€œColeman, Easy Rider was about the American Dream.”
    â€œLike I just said.”
    â€œNo, not like . . . Never mind.”
    Conversation took a break as the powder-­blue 1972 Mercury Comet sat quietly on a deserted shoulder off Highway 105.
    Serge and Coleman. An unforeseen permutation of the odd ­couple. Theirs was a long-­standing alliance of mutual tolerance with a perpetual sound track of camera clicks and bong bubbles.
    Coleman raised his hand.
    Serge pointed at him in recognition. “Yes, the transfer student from Cannabis County.”
    â€œWhy are we in Louisiana?”
    Serge twisted the camera’s telephoto lens. “Because it happened right there . . .” Click, click, click. “ . . . the shooting location of the final scene from Easy Rider, a few miles north of Krotz Springs.”
    â€œHow’d you find it?”
    â€œExhaustive, frame-­by-­frame analysis of the closing aerial shots fading back from the burning motorcycle.” Click, click, click. “That modest bayou out there was the last clue. I studied Internet satellite photos until I located it alongside the Atchafalaya River.” He lowered the camera as a dragonfly flew in the open window. “Except they used a little geographical liberty to choose this filming site because the story line had them heading east out of New Orleans, not northwest.”
    Coleman’s eyes rolled in their sockets as they followed the insect buzzing along the inside of the windshield looking for an exit. “Dragonfly, dragonfly, dragon . . . fly, dra-­gonnnnn-­fly, dragon-­flyyyyyyy, dragon-­ffffffly, dragon! fly! . . . fly! dragon! . . . dra-­fly-­gon! . . .”
    â€œColeman, whatever the fuck it is you’re doing, can you please stop?”
    â€œHey, Serge, you know how if you keep repeating the same thing over and over, it just becomes meaningless gibberish?”
    â€œI do now.”
    â€œThat’s seriously messed up. It’s all I’m saying.”
    â€œKeep those bulletins flowing.”
    â€œYou got it.” He leaned back over his airplane.
    â€œBut here’s the part that really hacks me off.” Click, click, click. “Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper were heading to Florida. That was their ultimate goal. And after they trip on acid in that cemetery and hit the road, I’m rubbing my palms in anticipation: ‘Okay, here comes the best part of all! My home state!’ And then suddenly it’s over. I bought the DVD to scour the bonus material for an alternate ending, but no luck there, either.”
    Serge started up the car.
    â€œWhere now?” asked Coleman.
    â€œThe key to my quest for the American Dream. Those two cyclists were always hitting small towns on their quest for the Sunshine State.” Serge pulled back onto the road. “So we’re going to pick up the baton that Fonda and Hopper dropped right here and head south to create our own alternate ending.”
    A n hour later, the Comet rolled east out of Slidell on Route 190.
    â€œMan, you must really love that movie,” said Coleman. “I remember you swearing you’d never leave Florida again, after that last time.”
    Serge studied the side of the road with intention. “Technically we’re still in Florida.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” asked Coleman. “We’re not even back to Mississippi.”
    â€œThe sign we passed