OLDPROSE: Henny Newton

In those days Henny Newton traveled with a lot of heels, all kinds of phoney intellectuals, drug dealers, poets, porno actresses -- feasters.  There was this Count Olof who would brag to me about one million acres in Romania, then borrow five dollars to buy a Cola Roba.  It was a big tour; all after-party, no show.  But see, with Henny, I'll give the kid credit for vision: he was biding his time, he knew something was coming.  Because here was this other count, or duke, or something, but importantly he was Russian, not Romanian, and with him Russian money cloudied Henny's way.  They wanted Afghan pictures.  A trilogy, with the first to take place on the Silk Road, the second to resume the story with the Russians fighting the Taliban, and of this second movie Henny should really do it Gunga Din style, because the third movie would be a tragedy on Marines stomping towels, not nearly as fun-loving as the Spetsnaz.  These Russians were looking to get PMC contracts for Afganistan -- Maggie, these oil barons wanted to be poppy barons -- they wanted the USA to sell them back the right to waste ordinance in Toar, Boar, and Loar, and Henny would be their sonneteer and heavyweight annunciator.  They wanted to burn bullets, and pick poppies.