"Just look at the right-hand eyebrow, Frankie, of what most people call the man in the moon."

"Now I ask you—how can nobody with a naked eye see nobody that far away?" But having nothing to lose, Frankie takes a squint.

And just like that, he's on top a mountain with some old guy who's got long white hair and whiskers and twinkly blue eyes. The guy's got an old chair with a cushion tied to the seat and back of it and just sits rocking away, comfortable as you please.

"Well, hey," Frankie says. "From the earth the moon always looks like a big fat cheese. But now that I'm up here on the thing, it really is all deserts and steep mountains of almost every color under the sun. Maybe there ain't no air. Maybe the sunlight's hot enough to fry a horse. Maybe. But I sure don't feel no bum effects, either—yet.

"And another thing. I always suspected a guy on this here moon'd be gaping down at the earth. But here I'm gandering up. It's looney, all right, but I can see everything there—oceans and continents, towns and rivers and roads—the whole shebang." And Frankie feels a puff of pride too. "Link One shows up pretty good from here too."

The old man rocks away, his chair creaking a little tune. "Can also see inside the Rainbow Gardens near your town there."

"Yeah?" Sighting on that fun place, Frankie can see inside, sure enough. Not many couples, just one that interests Frankie.

"Looks like Mary enjoys dancing with Jake," the old man says.

"Huh." Frankie watches them prancing around the juke box.

"Yep, Frankie," the old man says, "that's quite a specimen of girl."

"Unh," he grunts.

But now Mary and Jake sit at a table in one corner—and that pop peddler's shoving a diamond ring on Mary's finger!

"Dames." Frankie shuts his eyes and feels sort of sick. "Blah."

"Nice girls in Hollywood, Frankie," the old man says.

"Huh." But Frankie ganders out that way. "Hey—how come we can't see into these Hollywood joints when we could gander into Rainbow Gardens?"

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