Art + Capitalism = Redemption? Maybe!

 

Thursday, October 1, 2020

Art + Capitalism = Redemption? Maybe!

Redemption. Perhaps we'd best consider that one for a moment. Yes, there are shades of the Biblical woven all through the notion, and into elements of the stories we'll share here as well, particularly this one. And it's pert near a dead-ringer for the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

Meet Morris Quant, age 33, proprietor of the recently launched "Apothecary For Our Times," otherwise known as Four-Eyed Moe's, located in the Owl's Hill Annex.

 Open since the beginning of the Pandemic, Moe's has not unsurprisingly been met with open arms by a populace feverish for relief of any sort. And Moe's has that covered. 

Pharmaceuticals, holistics and a dispensary under one roof, Quant carries hard to find over-the-counter products, such as Geri-Gel Analgesic Dentifrice and the locally sourced FeentWater bottled water; garden-variety psychotropics and sleep-aids, as well as a  selection of some very good weed, also sourced locally. But it was not always thus for Mr. Quant. On the up and up, that is.

The Redemption Part

Yeah. Young Moe really liked a couple of things: basketball and chemistry. He grew up in the sticks, graduating from Summertime High School, class of 2005, Valedictorian and a serious power forward. The plan was to enlist in the Marines, do a couple hitches, take the loot and major in Chem at Carbonic State afterwards. But his knee blew out terribly in boot camp, and that was that. He came back hurting across the board. Moe tried to help his old man around the farm as best he could for awhile, but he never cared much for farming in the first place, and the family farm sat nearly vertical, aslant in those hills. That made the farming suck doubly bad.

But there was more money to be made, further back  in the Summertimes, and Moe lit out, not to be seen for months at a time. When he did show up, it was the dark of night, and that old truck he drove didn't have lights. A cloud of dust in the moonlight, a door slams shut, and he's gone again. But not forgotten.

"Uh huh, you betcha. I was cooking meth," he says, staring at you intensely as he speaks. "And it was good. Oh yeah, it was good." He looks rueful, fully cognizant of the plague of his own cooking that he'd loosed upon the populace for a good many years. "But that was bad, and I got busted, like I deserved. And I did the time they gave me, and fuck them and all that, but I come out for the good, see?" He waves an arm expansively, indicating the sweep and scope of his little shop. "You looking for something? We probably got it."

But, you may be wondering, how did a jailbird like Four-Eyed Moe transition from meth chef on parole, to up and coming entrepreneur? 

"It was the kindness of that sainted man," he says emphatically,  nodding toward the portrait  of an immense, beneficent looking gentleman in overalls. "Old Farmer Feent. See, my dad died while I was in the can, and old Farmer Feent offered my mom a nice price for the place, bought the cows, that shitty old tractor, everything. She moved off with her sister, and when I got out he gave me a job at the bottling plant, bottling FeentWater..  He always got a kick outta me and my ideas, and when I come up with this one, he liked it so much, he staked me. Set me up. Bless him, that nice old man, old Farmer Feent!" Moe's eyes well up, and he adds, "You betcha."

So there you go, comrades, a small tale of redemption, told by old Four-Eyes, signifying I'm not sure what, other than the importance--nay, the necessity--of kindness. Of believing and trusting in those deserving, even if they used to cook meth back in the hills. Sometimes that's just what it takes. And check out what Four-Eyes learned to do in the can: 

The  Art Part