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Re-reading these stories some 40 years after the first time I read them was like embarking on a fascinating voyage into a time capsule - and a very specific one at that. There's an innocence here that's truly mind-boggling. People don't "roll a joint", they have "batches of dope", as if it were a brand new discovery. The women all seem to want to "be layed" all the time (as if). There's nothing the least bit "racial" brought up about the Confederacy. A lot of it could never be written today, but most of it could, and would still be fantastic. Brautigan writes like a casual poet, effortlessly tossing out fun and silly metaphors for the sheer heck of it. He's at the cusp of a magical realism that has only recently become Americanized, both ahead of his time and yet an integral part of it. Got a frog problem? Get some alligators! Now there's a fine idea. I loved his useless, incompetent, soft-boiled private eye C. Card, one of the best/worst detectives I've ever come across. The biggest mystery is "where did she put all that beer"? The Hawkline Monster is a crazy horror story with Chemicals and elephant foot umbrella stands and a sad, discontent shadow. All three of these stories are inventive and scattered, and you really have to just go with it, take it one line at a time, and let it breathe.