I recall awhile back walking down the streets of Chicago searching for a reason to stop walking. The harvest was upon me as I walked amongst fallen leaves and dying trees. The surreal atmosphere and tumbling winds hindering my movements had me seeking a place of escape. Just then, I felt the urge to stop walking. I looked to my left and realized I was standing outside a pawnshop.

I walked inside to a murky front room filled with dusty vinyl, antique toys and abandoned music instruments. They could have been the tools of Chicago legends; missing artifacts hidden from museums ready to be found by a young musician seeking the same life they once lived. I had walked into a time capsule for forgotten love and memories.

I approached the clerk at the desk and introduced myself. Between puffs from a cigarette he told his name was Qwel and he was a member of the group Typical Cats. I was familiar with his work, but never put a face to it.

I noticed a rubber duckie sitting next to him and when I looked at his notebook the title of the poem he was writing said "The Rubber Duckie Experiment." Curious, I asked what was with the duckie.

He said, " Well the title, the words "rubber duckie" and how it's pertinent is that I started bugging after Sept. 11 with the significance and I think it was just a fucked up thing. Everything like food, the weather, and stress just felt phony to me, like a rubber duckie. So, I really wanted to do something so pertinent to see how it would manifest itself. The experiment came from the blues and how I feel emotionally and I often wonder how words manifest, but I couldn't really detail it.

Then, I was in a shirt shop in El Paso, it was some Gadzooks