The Holy Spirit Hideaway

After experiencing a cloud nine heavenly lifestyle, Huey C Hughes purchased rental wings, and puffy poles, advocating exploring unknown freedom rights. Navigating his way enjoying the friendly skies, an enchanting pillow like, glorified air strip appeared promoting a tourist luring landmark, “The Holy Spirit Hideaway”.

Feeling adventurous, HCH investigated, entered, noticing two baseball hats, above the bar, one for the Windy City Whelps and the other Southside Snowy Stockings.

“Welcome, my friend,” a reddish doubting Thomas character approached, portraying an honest personality, not sugar coating reality, firmly believing there were worldwide broken system elements, “to the Holy Spirit Hideaway, where we sin, win, and watch our next of kin, living it up, knowing everything is corrupt.”

“Such the poet,” HCH labeled, impressed, applauding the creative effort.

“What brings you here? Mister?”

“Mister Hughes, Huey C Hughes, recognized worldwide,”

“Should have realized, another one from the angel city,”

“And what do they call you?” HCH attitude acted neighborly.

“Summerlin Henderson, the desert rat,”

“Well, Summerlin,” HCH retorted, “a very nice place you have here.”

“Last tempting tease before, the Golden Gateway,” Summerlin Henderson touted.

“Golden Gateway?”

“Yeah, once you encounter and traverse the interesting point, eternal riches are yours,” Summerlin Henderson explained, “what did you do down there?”

“President,” HCH paused, “of the breakfast club.”

“And how did that all happen?”

“Watched the sunrise every morning and served early risers, as a short order cook at the Breakfast Club Diner,”

Finding a barstool HCH peered up, digesting the hanging menu, “What do you recommend?”

“Holy Spirits,”

“Holy Spirits?” Questioned HCH.

“Red, white and green wine,”

“Green wine?”

“Yeah, I created it for Saint Patrick when the leprechaun fella came here and used magical quarter-leaf clovers converting a rainy day into treasure pots,” Summerlin Henderson recounted, “he came in following painting a colorful rainbow and, like most misunderstood Saints, felt distressed debating many things. Wanting to build trust, I created a green wine.”

“Did he like it?”

“Never asked but my cash register had an opening a shut workout,” Summerlin Henderson mentioned, “so how did you get your ticket here?”

“Last memory was visiting Empire State Island, I left the garden, grabbed a big apple, and something struck me,” HCH remembered.

“Dead?” Summerlin Henderson tried clarifying.

Taking a second, HCH accepted the fact, “yeah.”

“Well Al Mighty has been experimenting many centuries, maybe El Perfecto threw the electrical lightening javelin too far,” Summerlin Henderson informed, retrieving a brochure, “in fact he built this wall that captures water and energy, we call it ‘God’s Dam’,”

Realizing a major transition occurred, HCH decided to rest, reflect and taste locally fermented vineyard juice samples, observing all the decorations wondering, “why are there references to Chicago?”

“Just changed,” Summerlin Henderson excitingly responded, “used to be South American football memorabilia, honoring the sitting political leader running the place.”

Sticking hands inside his back pockets, HCH unleashed a comical roar, relieving any tension, “there always has been a problem, with the system. Hasn’t there?”

“That is what I have always been saying,” Summerlin Henderson interrupted, “in fact Al Mighty sent his son down to do a repair job but stable boy duties were not good enough for the young chap, instead he had to be King, and where did it get him?”

Hearing the legend, HCH pondered the message, “So, Summerlin Henderson, what can I do? Correct a wrong?”

“Thought you never asked,” the proprietor disappeared, and seconds later reemerged presenting recreational baggage. “What are those? Golf clubs?” HCH inquired.

“No, loving arrows, Saint Valentine left for certain guests,” Summerlin Henderson declared, “now hurry, take off your clothes, change into this skimpy outfit, put your skis back on and glide through the golden gate.”

“Will this fulfill any obligations?”

“No,” Summerlin Henderson sadly responded, “you will just send a love message, and everyone should laugh.”