I finally arrived in the District and it seemed like there would be plenty of time to look for a job, so I went with my brother to his company picnic. We met up with some of his coworker friends in the downtown area called Adams Morgan. There I met Ben Strauss and John Danner.

The picnic wasn’t due to start for a couple of hours so we stayed out of the searing August sun, talking and having a few beers in Ben’s living room. John immediately impressed me as very kind and thoughtful. He seemed very interested in getting to know me or my situation and how I ended up in the District.

"So what do you want to do?"

"To tell you the truth I have no idea. I mean I never really looked for a job save for the typical summer employment. In my last semester all my friends were going off to job fairs and getting themselves lined up for jobs. I don’t know I just had fun my last semester. Staying up all hours, skipping classes, and going camping. So I don’t know, I guess I just want a job. Enough to survive on."

"Interesting. Have you had any interviews?" John asked.

"Well, no" I replied and drank some beer thinking quickly about my future. This did not upset me as it might some. I guess some would respond with some level of consternation. "You see I have only just arrived last week and have not had a chance to look around so much. I expect to out a little more this coming week and make the most of it. You know, get a copy of the Sunday’s Post and start scanning." Again I drank some beer and sensed my own uneasiness about my precarious jobless situation.

John smiled at me wisely. "Good luck Peter. It isn’t easy down here. Throngs come from all over to get started in this city. But you know, I manage a couple of government contracts and sometimes positions open up. Let me know if you need to get something quick."

"Thanks John. I figure I’ll head down to the Capitol Building next week and maybe take some civil service tests. Whatever."

Across the room, Ben and Taylor burst into laughter. I looked at John with a questioning look and then got up to find out what was so funny. John and I dropped all discussion of the coming days and decided to focus on the ever-mirthful present.

"What’s so funny I asked them as I approached.

Taylor looked at me as though he didn’t understand. "Man, everything’s funny!" Then he shoved a cold beer at my chest.

* * *

We took Taylor’s car. On the way to the picnic the music was loud and the cars windows were open. It was good enough to just sit there and let my mind wander with the movements of the automobile. Every once in a while someone would let out a yell of comment or observation or statement of fact.

Then Ben took something out of a paper bag and leaned up between the seats, yelling, "Taylor, I’m going to put the gin under your seat."

We pulled into the pasture of the rented farm where the party was held. The four of us stepped out into the still summer air. I stretched and looked into the car, just seeing the gin bottle sticking out from under the seat. I shivered slightly at the thought of drinking it, but was glad at the sight of several people milling about a tapped keg under the shade of an apple tree. I ran after the others who were already filling their cups.

Taylor introduced me to everyone, even the company president. He seemed a nice man. Older than his young wife, who seemed really nice given the numerous beverages I had consumed. That notwithstanding, I held my own conversing with him, but the conversation locked up soon after he began asking me about my education.

"So what did you study in college?" he asked me.

"History" I responded.

He did a double take, but quickly recovered. "Then I assume you are going to continue your education."

"Oh no. I decided to study what interested me when I went to college, not necessarily what would reap me the most money. I am determined to make the most of this life without any further formal education. Too many of my friends are going of to do masters work without really knowing what the real world is about."

It was obvious that he held me as somewhat of a fool, but still remained friendly.

"Well son, I do believe you will soon find out what the real world is all about. I wish you the best." He then excused himself and walked away, his arm wrapped tightly around his young wife.

* * *

Few cars remained in the field and there were just a few of us left sitting upon a picnic table finishing off the last of the beer. The shade of the trees had just started to move across a couple of the parked cars. Soon we would have to decide what to do next.

Taylor lifted his cup high into the air getting his last sip, swallowing with a gulp. "Okay, what do we do now."

"Bar?" Ben threw out. The keg sputtered, blowing air as he tried to fill his cup once more.

"Kicked" I stated the obvious.

John was aggravated with Ben’s idea. "On a night like this, Strauss? You’re not using your head." John thought for a moment, rubbing his well-groomed beard. "Easy. We’ll go to the Montgomery County Fair. "

"Perfect" agreed Taylor. "I love the farm animals."

So we walked across the grass parking lot to where only our car remained. Taylor got in the driver’s side and leaned across to unlock my door. I opened the door only slightly and was hit by a wave of hot air escaping from the small car.

"Good heavens!" I stepped back.

"Yeah it got pretty stifling in here sitting in this field all day. Come on get in! We’ll wind down the windows and drive real fast¼." Taylor commanded.

Taylor whipped rapidly across the field, turning the music up as we turned out onto the road. It took a second for the cooling night air to push the stifling air out of the car. Our head bounced slightly to the beat of the music and of course Taylor and I were singing. Behind us, Ben had already reached under the seat and pulled out the package he had lodged there earlier in the day. He twisted the cap off the bottle, prompting Taylor and I to turn around just in time to see Ben slurping down a swig. The expression on his face had me wondering though. It looked like he had just slammed a cup of piping hot coffee.

"What’s the matter?" I yelled back.

"Ah, it’s just a little warm." He said, passing the bottle of to John.

John tipped it back, but then his head snapped back just as quick, his face twisting up in revulsion.

"God! Oh my God that is awful!" He shoved the bottle at the driver. John’s lips shined with what looked like rubbing alcohol.

Taylor wasted no time and gingerly to one, then two large thought provoking swallows. He smacked his lips afterwards. The bottle then came to me. My brother winked at me.

"Keep your eye on the road Taylor" I said distractedly.

Then it was me and the bottle. I looked down at the splashing almost gaseous liquid and upped it to my mouth. Instantly the hot gin registered somewhere in my already buzzed brain as an evil substance. My body reviled against it and I actually had to snap my head backwards to get it down. For a second - and I mean only a second - I thought I had done it. But no. A torrent of vomit just a quickly made its way back up my gin scorched throat. I slapped my right hand over my mouth just in time as both my cheeks filled up with the ghastly mixture of gin and partially digested grilled hamburger. Only one thing could be worse than what had already happened - and that was to swallow the whole mess, which I did.

"Okay, I’m done with this gin shit!" I yelled out to the whole world more than my partners in crime.

"Oh come on Peter, it ain’t that bad." Ben weakly argued.

I slowly turned around and gave Ben the bottle. "Well Ben, I’d have to say that it’s pretty bad when you drink something and you have to end up swallowing your own chunks of vomit."

Peter did not counter with any further argument, but just stared back at me.

(Then Taylor, good naturedly) "Hey, I’ll take some more gin."

Thank goodness we had by then pulled into another huge grass parking lot. Taylor weaved his way through the megshift parking area, eventually encountering an attendant who collected five dollars from us and pointed us into a distant spot. I saw him linger on a bit watching our misguided car. I secretly wondered if the band of us could even pull off a walk around the fairgrounds at this point.

* * *

"Come on we gotta get moving Peter," John whispered in my ear. We both stood watching my brother cradle the head of a Black Angus steer in his arms. Taylor seemed to have slipped into a sort of bovine-induced trance his hand repeatedly stroking the muzzle of the animal.

"Let me go talk to him," I responded to John coming out of my own trance.

I stood just behind him for a moment before saying anything to him. Truly he was in such a peaceful state that I didn’t want to disturb him. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Black Angus were always my favorite" I said to him.

He was slow to respond, but finally looked away from the steer towards me. His eyes didn’t quite meet mine, but rather came to rest near my upper left forehead. He was fucked up.

"Taylor we gotta get moving. You been hanging on to that Angus for ‘bout ten minutes. Let’s go get something to eat."

He seemed unsure and dejected about something and only mumbled in response "I don’t know."

I took his arm and pulled him away slowly. His left hand hung onto the bridal in a last attempt to stay with the animal. Once free my brother set off in the wrong direction wobbling back and forth between the stables. I caught up to him and turned him around to follow the other guys as they made their way to the main building. I kept my eye on him as we walked past the sundry rides usually seen at a carnival, my arm occasionally latching onto him as he veered to close to other carnival goers.

It soon was clear to me that I could not watch Taylor’s every move. If my head was turned for a second in the wrong direction, he was off running into something or someone. So I choked down a hot dog which in the interest of time was laden only with mustard.

They other guys noticed Taylor’s state. We took the last large bites of our respective meals looking at each other then at Taylor. He was propped up against the wall of the boardwalk fry stand.

"We better get him out of here soon" Ben said.

"Yeah man, he’s really ginned in the head" I agreed.

John was looking around in an attempt to get his bearings. "If we go off in the direction of the vendors and cut through the building we’ll come out close to where we parked."

"Sounds good." I walked over to Taylor and prodded him into moving after the others.

The main building was actually two structures joined together. We soon approached the area where the buildings met. The carnival goers had to pass single file through the doorways between the buildings. Ben and John moved through first followed by Taylor. It happened before I could remedy the situation. A husky local was coming from the other direction and one of Taylor’s many wobbles that night landed him right against the chest of the fast moving brute. Taylor glanced off of him like a deflected defender and into the corner of a vendor’s tables. My brother came to rest on the floor along with a couple of country welcome signs. He didn’t move. A body at rest prefers to remain at rest especially when it is full of gin.

I made a fast job of picking up the country signs and putting them back on the table. The vendor was a gruff old bearded guy who immediately laid into me as my brother was in no shape to receive a scolding.

"You better get that drunk outta here before you have to pay for something!" He admonished. A small crowd had gathered around the mishap.

"Look pal, nothing was broken. Not one of your cute little country signs was harmed" I fired back.

"Well your lucky for that!"

I stooped over and pulled Taylor to his feet. He was all rag-dolled and limp, barely standing, but I managed to move him quickly away from the gathering and madding crowd. John and Ben had themselves backed off from the two of us until the country home signs had stopped sliding across the floor. I didn’t really give a damn about the gawkers and started humming that Hollies tune about brothers.

"Gaw, he’s really fucked up" Ben had identified the obvious, lifted Taylor’s unresponsive hand, then let it drop.

"Guys, I think we better get moving." John’s head was stretching to look across the main room of the carnival building. "I just saw that booth operator point at us with two cops at his side.

"Fuck them, they ain’t real cops. All golden plastic badged bullshit authority" I steamed as I moved my teetering scare-crowed brother through the exit doors.

We moved along like a small wounded patrol looking for a way out. Taylor was mumbling things and dragging his feet and if it weren’t for me he would of just as soon lay down for a macadam slumber. From a distance I saw the exit area appear in the seemingly endless chain link fence. I breathed a sigh of relief which was cut short. No more than 50 yards from making our escape, the golf cart arrived carrying the brown shirts.

"Stop right there boys!" One of them stepped out in front of us, holding out his hand. "What’s the matter with him?" His looked with a nod at Taylor. Ben and John looked at me, graciously giving me the opportunity.

"I don’t know, bud" I said tiredly. "Have you ever tied one on?"

He was perplexed by the question. "Wha’ huh? Well, yer.. ah.. no, I mean¼ Look punk, he’s too drunk to be here and we’re here to throw him out."

"Officer" I started politely, looking for a second at the low luster glare of his plastic badge "we were just leaving. I mean we’re a couple feet from being out of here."

He was shaking his head before I finished. "No, no that can’t be. We have to escort him out. He has to get into the vehicle."

"That’s a golf cart" I blurted out the more accurate description.

"Let’s get him into the vehicle" he persisted and took Taylor’s arm and guided him into the ‘passenger seat.’ I relinquished, figuring not much could go wrong in this home stretch.

But as they pulled out I immediately worried for my brother. They took no precautions to keep him in their beloved vehicle and sure enough around the slightest bend I ever seen, the cart went off one way and Taylor inertia-racked body went the other. He slid for a bit, the small gravel acting as a painful graphite lubricant. Then, again, he rested.

"You MORONS!" In a few seconds I was with Taylor, pulled him up again. I looked at the cops as they sat there looking like they were somewhere betwix the ninth and tenth hole, on their way to being sworn in as the regents of idiotville. "Ya know I was taking him out anyway." Again the four of us shuffled off and made it through the exit.

"We down want to see you trouble makers back here again!" One of them shouted after us, like we might be finally crushed by that blow. We disappeared into darkness of the unlit grass parking lot. I guess the last they saw of us was my middle finger thrust back at them through the night.