Dusty kept picking and grinning down in Hicksville, USA and was doing ok. He was pulling in some dough with the hillbilly one-nighters and his day gig at the moo zoo. He didn't have too many friends in Nashville. He had a little trouble relating with all the neon rednecks, so after the psycho drama serials with Stormy, he stayed mostly to himself. Unless he got real horny from reading dime store novels. Then he would cruise the bars for trailer park bimbos.

Dusty was real glad to hear from Kareem after receiving an unexpected call from him. They had a lot of stories to tell. Memories came crashing back. He wished he could fall back in time and make the beat scene, but that scene was over. They talked a long time and swore to keep in touch.

Early one morning as a fresh sun was coming up over the cattle prison where he worked, Dusty was jawboning with his favorite cow. A real fine bovine chick that the bulls called Elsie. He was telling Elsie all about the Scariens and Mr. Scary when Elsie laid it on him. The big secret. The location. She told him that the center of the universe was in Richmond, Virginia.

Weeks passed by like years. The big secret ate away at his soul. He believed Elsie because a cow won't lie to you. He couldn't eat or sleep, living in 3-D. Distracted, distraught and dissociated. He had to split and make the scene. He grabbed his new Gibson electric guitar, packed his duds, closed out what was left of his bank account, and then he was real gone.

Dusty fell into Richmond dazed and confused. He got himself a little trailer on the south side of town. Westbrook Trailer Park down on Jefferson Davis Highway. He picked up a little gig at a joint up the road called the Satellite Club. He was hoping Elsie hadn't jived him on this thing. It was hard to believe that the center of the universe was this low rent hick town.

Dusty roamed the city like he was exploring outer space. He felt like the vibe was right, though. This was the place, he thought. He waited, somehow feeling that any day Mr. Scary and Mirror would show up. He thought about calling up all the cats and hipping them to the big secret. But he waited. He wanted to be absolutely sure, this time.

A deep purple dusk hung over the trailer park as Dusty put up a little wooden sign over the door to his trailer. A pedal steel player from up at the Satellite Club made it for him with a wood burning kit. It said: DUBBLE D RANCHER.

There was an unseasonal chill in the air and Dusty went inside his trailer to pick a few licks on an old Dobro he bought down at the flea market. Sucking down Cokes and cigarettes, the evening passed slowly. He got tired early that night. He cut off the lights and hit the sofa. Cowboy boots still on.

As soon as his head hit the couch, he heard strange whirling sounds outside. He saw the sky light up with flashing colors through the nicotine stained picture window in his trailer. He jumped off the sofa and went outside. The big red wooden box sat on the stoop of his trailer. Surreal, and yet so real. Hairs all over his body stood up to salute the arrival of the red box.

Dusty pulled the box inside and opened it up. A strange collection of stuff was inside. He took the things out, item by item. There was an ancient looking scroll, a cowboy pistol, a wooden box filled with crazy smelling herbs, a cassette tape, a poster of Elvis wearing some kind of turban, and some other weird stuff.

Startled, Dusty pulled out some cylinders with disks attached to the ends. Deja vu. Dr. Stone. The CIA. These devices were very much like the rotating disks that Dr. Stone would show him, back in the old MK-Ultra daze. But instead of a swastika pattern, these disks had a double spiral pattern imprinted on them.

Dusty put the cassette tape in his pocket and split the trailer. Dogs were howling for blocks around. The moon was full and the air electric. The moon seemed like a big spotlight aimed at Dusty as he shuffled up to the pay phones at the corner.