MY PEACEMAKER IS
IN YOUR GROOVE
IN YOUR GROOVE
I crossed the Alleghenies by driving quite fast.
Wanted nothing for wasting my time. Now headed
to Pittsburgh, I wanted to sleep. Some dip-faced
hotel in a little alley-town along the way. I got off
the big road, and just kept driving the turns 'til I
got to some lights. A bar, a tavern, an Arby's,
a closed-up barber-shop, a drug-store, and the
Cantwell Motel. What a cool name, I thought
to myself, entering. The lobby was more like a
ticket lounge in an old movie-house. The guy
behind the counter said his name was Ned.
I said 'Ned, I'll need a room for two nights, and
as long as it's got a bed and a sink I don't care
about nothing else.' Still he went on : free coffee
machine for use in each room, with complementary
coffee, WIFI everywhere, large screen TV. No, he
didn't get my gist, but I got the room. It looked out,
I saw the next morning, over a lake named 'Lake Orange'
where someone once - locals had it - saw the image
of Jesus in a scarce reflection on the open water. So, of
course, there's the Lake Orange Chapel right there too.
That's why, Ned said the next day, 'we don't got no
porno channels or nothing like that. Hope you don't
mind.' What a weird thing to say. Saw my Jersey plates,
or what, I wondered. I sat in his lounge-chair lobby
a while, just to see what passes for life on this side of
those mountains. Which aren't really 'mountains' anyway.
But whatever. Indian tribes had different names for
different things - we call it Lake Orange, with a Jesus
attached; God knows what they called it : 'Akeemawapo
boniwicca' - I think that means 'Lake of Some White Man's
God' in the local Allegheny tongue. Whatever. Now all they
do is gamble anyway, and take the white man's money.
Even from a guy like me, just trying to make Pittsburgh
soon, even from a guy like me, though I don't let them.