Bob Dylan sings about monkeys doing a dance in one of his songs on "Another Side of Bob Dylan." In the song, he asks his monkey to do the dog, and it winds up doing the cat, to which he replies, "Funky Monkey." I think he was on drugs.
             On what would turn out to be the swampiest, most disgusting day of summer, the Cary First Presbyterian Church parishioners showed up at 9 a.m. for the Sunday service, only to discover that their beloved Reverend Harris, church leader for 35 years, was nowhere to be found.
             "Where could he be?" asked Mrs. Drake, who hadn't missed a Sunday service since 1963 (except for that one time she was in the city for a minor surgery).
             Mrs. Drake and her husband broke into the Reverend's house, directly behind the hefty brick church after they had knocked loudly several times, even on the windows. Meanwhile, the parishioners swarmed the empty lot, Fellowship Hall and choir loft, in starched white shirts and the leather shoes they reserved for Sundays. Mrs. Drake's daughter, age 14, complained that beggar weeds were stuck to her favorite pair of frilly socks. They were her favorite because a silky pink ribbon was woven through the lace, and her best friend Susie Kemeny had a pair too.
             It was not until noon of the same day, in 98 degree heat that Mr. Tweedy, the Fire Marshal and Sheriff, decided that something, something, must be done. So he tracked down Mark, the Reverend's delinquent nephew who was living with him at the time. Although Mark had not been to the Reverend's house in three days, everyone knew that he could be found at Munnegin's Bar on 13th Street, where his band often played.
             "When was the last time you saw him, Mark?" asked Mr. Tweedy. "Well, I haven't really been back there in a few days cause I've been crashing at Darren here's place, you know." Mark gestured toward his unclean, unshaven friend who was dressed in mostly black, except for the red bandana punctuated with fluorescent green...