This disappearing act was far from the first time Buster found himself stunned and alone, though it was the first time he could remember it happening after a kiss. His introductory introduction to abandonment came when Gypsy Mom decided to take to the caravan road without him. He didn't count his abusive Dad's departure since it came early and often like the Election Day voters in Chi town.Mom who hung around long enough to be remembered for her exotic dancing, her abundance of beaus -these were not the parade of gentlemen callers from William's Menagerie though they did resemble the denizens of the basement circus of MSG when Ringling Bros came to town- and yes the occasional warm kiss on the cheek, made her escape by depositing the little Buster with a kindly old neighbor, Mrs. Amato and her tall-tale telling bull artist of a husband, Sylvester.
The Mrs was as full of love as her hubby was full of shit and Buster grew up fertilized by her goodness and his manure.This turned out not to be the worst formula for child development since a stimulated heart and a sparked imagination may be most of what a child needs for facing a hard , bland life. The Lady Amato would hug and kiss the stuffing out of the poor , rejected urchin while her Lord regaled the pair with legends of his far-flung and even farther -fetched feats.Buster's heart grew up on slobbering kisses and bone-crushing embraces while his little head was filled with sagas of alligator-wrestling, bomber missions and heroic rescues of damsels and dandies in distress.
Buster's favorite was the Mrs' zerberts on both cheeks during Sylvester's recounting of the time he broke both arms and had to spend months in rehabilitative swimming of the distance of the English Channel daily to recuperate. This extraordinary recovery proved its hidden purpose when he was sailing down the Amazon with one of his many lady admirers(he made William's Momma look lovelorned). As their craft hit a set of violent rapids our brave hero realized that the hapless boat was about to be hurtled over a giant waterfall like a corner sewer bound popsicle stick raft in the gutter current of a SoBo summer johnny pump torrent. Diving into the drink-Sylvester still did that daily with some dexterity- he swam against the vicious cyclical current and dragged the foundering bark behind him with the strength of just one clinging finger! Lady and launch returned safely to shore, an admiring tribe of naked Amazonians celebrated the fantastic feat with nights and days of orgiastic and debauched festivaling-Sylvester's tales would certainly have gotten an NC-17 or worse in today's cultural climate.
In fact just that very same dazed and stupidly smiling face that the lad wore fresh from his brain being bullshitted and cheeks being vibrated sat upon the just kissed face of the usually bombastic Buster.All he could do was put the jalopy in gear and drift off into the rapidly flowing current of rush hour traffic like the bleary-eyed captain of a popsickle stick raft making his fated way to the corner sewer way out ahead of his competitors.