Well, I was standing on a corner with Wind Slow. The girl on the corner had one of those ten-string Brazilian guitars, you know the kind I used to have back in the ‘70s? But she could really play that thang. Sounded like some folksy bluesy slack-key calypso something or other.
Anyway, that ain’t rally my story. What I was really thinkin’ about and wanted to disgust with y’all was that red flat-bed Ford in the show room window. You can’t tell by lookin’ but that there truck belonged to me and my buddies back in the day.
Yes sir, we called her Wind Slow because it took awhile for the motor to warm up, and the gears always made this whining (or is that whinging?) sound. We would drive around town, and out onto the highway, looking for like-minded hippies to pick up, and haulin’ a bunch of products from the border. Actually, we had a commune out in the desert; you know one of them “in-tents-and-all” communities? Well, just a bunch of hippies.
I didn’t know that someone would make a song about Wind Slow. It really was a sort of true song of openness and friendship. This is all about how strangers meet and get along and all that. Just a bunch of hippies.
OK, well, they are playing the lunchtime music now so I gotta scoot over to the cafeteria. They have green beans and ham on Wednesdays. And smashed taters (with the skins on). Lots of my hippy buddies from the commune (did I tell you we called the commune “It’s a Beautiful Day”?) live at the Open and Friendly Assisted Living Center now. Somewhere in Arizona, some town nearby named after Chuck Berry or some other berry.