The mighty silver phallus stood proudly erect in the hot afternoon sun. The sun itself, oblivious to the dilemma I'd wandered into, concealed its glowing visage just beyond the giant structure, that in turn concealed me from the sun's harsh stare. The man, finishing his pathetic display of professional gluttony, wiped his third and fourth chins, and ambled in my direction. Gaining in width what he'd lacked in height, the corn lover, with what was presumably his pet goat in tow, slowed his pace to a suspicious shamble when he finally took notice of my presence. And it was not until he'd come within ten feet, that I noticed his green suit was not a suit at all, but was, in actuality, a thin covering of either grass or some kind of moss. Using the temporary distraction of its owner as an excuse, the goat took a daring nibble at the man's thigh, tearing away a large chunk of greenery. Its master exploded into a tirade of cursing and kicking, sending the animal running for its life. After he'd seemed to have calmed down, he turned back to me and said, "that one's always been a problem, ya know?"

I nodded my head, a little confused.

"Damn Skeet's constantly thinkin I was some kinda prize lawn he could just eat whenever he damn well pleases. Well mister, do I look like I was raised on Miracle Grow to you? Huh?"

Well, as a matter of fact, he did, but I thought better than to say it out loud.

"So what part of this retched globe are ya from? Eh?"

"Victoria."

"Hmm, let's see? Venice? No. Valdez? No. Virginia? No. Victoria? N---Wait a minute?" His forehead seemed to fold endlessly upon itself. He looked as if he were trying to answer the Million Dollar Question. "Hot tamales!! Ya been talkin with m'brother Seamus, ain't ya?"

"Who?"

"Seamus, m'brother, Seamus!"

I stared at him blankly. What were the odds of me knowing this guy's brother?

"God's tootin his horn kid, the one who done gave ya that bleamin map!!" He reached over to my pocket and plucked up the lavatory map.

He smiled. "Good ol' Seamus' been findin these here maps all over that cursed city 'a yours. Why you'd be the fourth lad to grace these fields in little over ten years I'd say. Good ol' Seamus."

Could the bum have been right? Was it indeed an authentic treasure map? "So the map's real?" I said.

"Well now, that depends on what ya be thinkin this map be leadin to?"

"Your brother said it was a treasure map."

To that, the green-grass man expelled a raspy cackle, slapping his hand down onto his fuzzy knee. "Is that what the drunkard's been fillin yer head with? Fool man's stories, every last one of 'em. No Laddy the only treasure left in these parts be the golden corn restin in that silo over there, and that wouldn't a be for passers by like y'self. No, that anit be leadin to no treasure, and by m'goat's nipples, I'll be right about that."

Feeling as if I'd been cheated out of something but not sure what, I sighed, a little annoyed. "So this isn't anything then?"

"Oh, 'tis a map, as sure as m'own name be Jumpin Jim Limabean!"

"Then what kind of map is it?"

"All in good time Laddy." He slowly unfolded the map and drew me close. "Look."

It was crude in it's exhibition, simplisticly constructed from the memory of it's creator, and faded black India ink. As it was the first map my young, inexperienced eyes had ever come in contact with, I could easily say that I could not even begin to be capable of deciphering its complex enigma. Never the less, the small, grinning stick figure pointing to a shiny chest with gleaming gold overflowing from within, pretty much gave me the gist of it.

"Looks like a treasure map to me," I replied.

"Of all the rotten logs o' Piper's Woods," he exclaimed, "that be the side ol' Seamus be doodlin on. The real map be on the flip side." He overturned the map, and pointed at a much more intricate drawing. "Ya know what this be Laddy?" He said, hooking a bushy eyebrow in question.

I studied the picture for quite a while, not exactly sure what to make of it. "Well, it kinda looks like a porpoise standing upright. And it looks like he's hugging a giant pickle."

A greasy smile crawled across his fat lips. "Aye Laddy, aye. A porpoise it be. But that wouldn't a be no pickle that greedy bastard be holdin."

"No?"

"No sir."

"Well what is it then?"

"Wouldn't a know. Don't expect much folk round here do. Ya see, this map be drawn metaphorically, you know what that means, don't ya?"

"Yeah, sure I do."

"Good, that's good. See, that "pickle" might be lookin like a pickle, or maybe a cucumber, but mister, a pickle it ain't."

This was getting a little confusing. "What about the porpoise then, what's the porpoise?"

"Oh, the porpoise?"

"Yeah," I said.

He was nodding his head, but he hesitated a moment. "Well, it---it be a porpoise."

Now I was lost. "But the pickle's not a pickle?"

The air of annoyance was thicker than London fog. "Look Laddy, you best be forgettin about that bleamin pickle. T'ain't the pickle ya need to worry bout mussin up that little brain o'yours. Its what that pickle be representin that counts."

I could tell how frustrated this Jumping Jim Limabean was getting, I could feel the heat pouring from his doughy, reddened face. It seemed the more questions I asked this walking lawn, the more the rage bubbled and fermented, threatening to reach critical mass. So I did the only thing I thought I could at that point, I asked another question. "So what does the porpoise have to do with this then?"

"FOR THE LOVE O' CHEESE KID, I DON---" he took a deep breath through teeth that looked about to shatter, and started again. "Mayhap we been lookin at this map thingy all tha wrong way. I thinks ya need to be lookin at this map as a kinda legend, or myth, if ya catch m'followin?"

"I guess I do."

"Good. Ya see, these here pitures seem to be explainin some kinda story. A story datin back to before m'ganpappy be ol' 'nuf to plow his first field. Now I kin help ya in the decipherin department, but I gonna need a somethin in return."

"What's that?"

"You like corn Laddy?"

"Sure."

"Then why don't ya c'mon back and join me for a little hot grub, huh?" His eyes had a glazed, yearning look when he mentioned corn, as though his earlier feast had been nothing more than a simple appetizer.

I looked the man over quickly. The sun was slowly bowing out below the horizon, promising to anyone who may have enjoyed its performance, to return again tomorrow with an all-new act. My stomach gave a small shuck and jive, reminding me that there had been little or no nutrition its way for quite some time. There really wasn't much else I could do. I nodded my head.

Jumpin Jim bursted into another fit of impromptu laughter, which quickly turned into a wheezy cough. After regaining his composure, he muttered something unintelligible to himself, and turned to me with a smile. "Aye, some deeeeeelicious corn for me and m'new friend. Best be followin close son, tha wheat don't take too kindly to strangers this time a night, don't ya know." He waved a greasy finger across the infinitely golden fields of wheat.

What the hell does he mean by that? I thought. Well, better not think about it now, my voice of reason (or was it sanity?) said, time to get us some corn!! The little man, who was already on his way, whistled a tune as his massive carriage sloshed about like a bucket of extremely runny pancake batter. Finding myself alone once again, I decided to heed his ramblings, and ran off to join the little man with green grass for skin.