The monkey hadn't been to a place this different since his first adventure, long ago when he had no responsibilities.  Even his best drum couldn't protect him from this-this- what was the word? Cild? Cald? Cold? Yes, that was right, it was cold outside. The name of the powder had completely faded from his memory. He enjoyed it though. It reminded him of the stuff he saw his father sniffing that one night. What was that stuff? Never mind, he thought. It didn't seem to have a worthwhile effect. But either way, the stuff was fun. The cold one, not the stuff he remembered. He realized he was approaching a small town. He wondered what the people were like. Where the nice or mean, rich or poor, happy or sad or what? Would they take kindly to his being a giant talking monkey? Would they kill him for meat? He didn't find any animal or plant life on the way there so that was a possibility.