((Still floating around somewhere in the Atlantic, JBB peers out of the porthole of his not-as-advertised-in-the-brochure cabin...))
**I hope TERRY understands when he reads my postcard. Hope that there Ms WIND didn't carry it off somewheres else. Goddamn, I miss him enough to make me whip sample tubes. Still, be nice ta see the folks agin. Hope I make it afore Uncle Pierre spurts his last...**((JBB takes out his only and therefore very precious family photo, gazing at it and remembering carefree childhood summers spent in Pays-de-la-Lotion.))
((JBB also thinks wistfully of TERRY CLOTH, remembering the laughter, the playful romps in the mountain breeze, when they had the sun on their backs and not a care in the world.
JBB begins to sing a sad lament, reminiscent of something he once heard by some Denver fellow when he was an arse-roadie...))
**All my bags are packed,
And I'm already gone,
I'm standin' by the door of the john,
I couldn't wake you up to say goodbye.
But the dawn is breakin',
It's early morn',
The ship/boat/dinghy is sailin',
It's blowin' its horn.
Already I'm so lonesome,
I could die.
So squeeze me and fluff for me,
Tell me that you'll wait for me,
Hold me like you'll never let me go.
Cause I'm bound for France (via Spain),
Dont know when I'll be back again,
Oh TERRY, I hate to go.**((JBB suddenly breaks down into uncontrollable sobs, lotion going everywhere.))