I canfeeltheheatclosingin,feel themout there
makingtheirmoves,settinguptheirdevildoll stool
pigeons,crooningovermyspoonanddropperIthrow
awayatWashingtonSquareStation,vaultaturnstile
andtwoflightsdowntheironstairs,catchan uptown
Atrain...Young,goodlooking,crewcut,Ivy League,
advertisingexectype fruitholds thedoor backfor me.
Iamevidentlyhisideaofacharacter. Youknow the
typecomesonwithbartendersand cabdrivers, talking
aboutrighthooksandtheDodgers, callthe counterman
in Nedick's byhis firstname. Areal asshole.And right
ontime thisnarcotics dickin awhite trenchcoat (im-
aginetailingsomebodyina whitetrench coat-- trying
to pass as a fag I guess ) hit the platform. I canhear the
wayhewould sayit holdingmy outfitin hisleft hand,
righthandonhispiece:"Ithinkyoudroppedsome-
thing, fella"
But the subway is moving.
"So long flatfoot!" I yell, giving thefruit hisB produc-
tion. I look into the fruit's eyes, take in thewhite teeth,
theFloridatan,thetwohundred dollarsharkskin suit,
thebutton-downBrooksBrothersshirtandcarrying
The News as a prop. "Only thing I read is Little Abner."
Asquarewantstocomeonhip.... Talksabout "pod,"
andsmokeitnowandthen,andkeepssomearoundto
offer the fast Hollywood types.
"Thanks, kid," I say, "I cansee you'reone ofour own."
Hisfacelightsuplike apinball machine,with stupid,
pink effect.
"Grassedonmehedid,"Isaidmorosely.(Note:
GrassisEnglishthiefslang forinform.) Idrew closer
andlaidmy dirtyjunky fingerson hissharkskin sleeve.
"Andusbloodbrothersinthe samedirty needle,I can
tell youin confidencehe isdue fora hotshot." ( Note:
This isa capof poisonjunk soldto addictfor liquida-
tionpurposes.Oftengiven toinformers. Usuallythe hot
shot is strychnine since it tastes and looks like junk. )
"Everseeahotshothit,kid? Isaw theGimp catch
oneinPhilly.Weriggedhisroomwithaone-way
whorehousemirrorandchargedasawskitowatchit.
Henevergottheneedleoutof hisarm.