I squinted as hard as I could and concentrated until I saw brown auras around everything.  I tried to pull Energy away from things and into the car.  My head throbbed.  My eyes watered.  Still I focused, still I squinted.  The Energy was out there—I wanted it!  I concentrated so hard I lost consciousness.

I came to a while later with a killer headache, and decided that maybe I’d taken on too much.  Maybe the Universal Energy didn’t work on cars.  Or maybe it just didn’t work on Kathy’s car.  That was probably it.  Leave it to my cousin to have one of those cars that not only doesn’t have the light that comes on when you’re low on gas, but can’t even work with the Universal Energy.

I decided to hitch-hike.

I caught a ride only moments after extending my thumb (which was only a few minutes after I’d extended my foot; I hadn’t hitch-hiked in a long time, and couldn’t remember the technique.)

I lucked out: the car was going straight through to Chicago.  We made it all the way to Sandusky before I remembered that I’d only needed a ride to a gas station.   I thought about going back for Kathy’s car, then decided that the Universal Energy had obviously taken control of things.  If the Universal Energy wanted Kathy to have her goddam car back, it would find a way.

I was beginning to like this Universal Energy.

In Chicago I got a ride to St. Louis, in St. Louis I got a ride to Kansas City, in Kansas City I got a ride to Denver, in Denver I got a ride to Las Vegas, in Vegas I got a ride to Reno, in Reno I got a ride back to Vegas, where I got a ride back to Reno, where I got another ride back down to Vegas, where I settled down and got a job at one of the gift shops in Caesar’s Palace, and married a cigarette girl named Paula, who was actually a poet and had won the Salinas, Kansas, spelling bee in fifth grade, and we had two children, and one day she left me for a slot-machine repair guy who took her and the kids to St. Louis where he hoped to make her a famous poet.  I was crushed.  Then I remembered about the manuscript and I got a ride down to Tijuana from a coworker at the gift shop who’d been offered the lead role in a film being shot there.  He asked me if I knew what a snuff film was.

It was a sultry mid-afternoon in July when I finally found myself in Ensenada, secret home of the secret brotherhood of Los Idiotos.  I figured the best way to find them would be to go into Papas & Beer and get drunk.

I sipped my Suffering Bastard at the bar and looked around for a lead.  The only Mexicans in the place were the staff and the band.  None of them looked like they belonged to a secret sect.  All the patrons looked like American college students.   They were all drunk, laughing, squealing, vomiting; it was a festive place.

I called the bartender over.

"Another Suffering Bastard, amigo?" he asked testily.

"Not yet," I said.  "But tell me... where can I find Los Idiotos?"

"Los idiotos? They are everywhere, amigo."

"I understand," I said.  "I’m sure they move about us in disguise, but how can I recognize them?"

"Truly you do not see them?"

"No," I said, "but I haven’t focused.  Hold on."  I squinted my eyes and focused as hard as I could.  I saw brown auras around everything, but I didn’t see anyone I hadn’t seen before.  The bartender watched me curiously.  "I still don’t see them," I said.   "Are they invisible?"

"Invisible, amigo?"

"Maybe I’m not advanced enough to see them?  I only made it to the Fourth Insight.  Can you see them?"

"I am looking at one right now," he said.  I spun around on my stool, but couldn’t even catch a glimpse of one.

"You must be very wise," I said.  I lowered my voice: "Are you an Idiot?"

"You call me an idiot, amigo?"

"I’m not calling you an idiot. I’m asking: are you an Idiot?"

The bartender shrugged. "If I was an idiot, probably I would think I was not an idiot," he said. "And I am not thinking I am an idiot.  And so, amigo, perhaps I am an idiot."

I was staggered.  "You are very, very wise," I said.

"Not so wise," he said.  "But very much experience with idiots."  And with an apologetic bow of his head, he moved down the bar.

The young man who'd been slumped over on the bar beside me suddenly began stirring to life, slowly peeling his face off the sticky veneer of the bar.

"You know about the Insights?" he asked.

"The first four," I said.  "I’m trying to find Los Idiotos.   I think that bartender may know more than he’s letting on.  What do you know?"

"I can tell you about the fifth insight," he said. "And I can tell you why you’re not gonna find Los Idiotos in Ensenada."

"Tell me!" I cried.

He nodded. "Let me wash this vomit off my face and get these cocktail nuts out of my hair.  Then I’ll tell you..."