you don't have to touch me, just talk to me, jesus christ Johnny I can't stand it, I CAN'T STAND IT, JESUS!" "GOD DAMN IT, I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE, GOD DAMN YOU, LEAVE ME ALONE, LEAVE ME ALONE, LEAVE ME ALONE, WILL YOU?" "Johnny-" he hit her a good one, a real good one.
open hand.
I almost fell off the stool.
I heard her choking the crap and walking off.
then Dutch and Willie and crew were back.
they ripped open the cans.
I finished my business and walked back in.
I'm gonna get up an anthology," said Dutch, "an anthology of the best living poets, I mean the real best." "sure," said Willie, "why not?" then he saw me: "enjoy your crap?" "not too much." "no?" "no." "you need more roughage.
you ought to eat more green onions." "you think so?" "yeah." I reached over and got 2 of them, jammed them down.
maybe next time would be better.
meanwhile there were riots, beer, talk, literature, and the lovely young ladies were making the fat million- aires happy.
I reached over, got one of my own cigars, took off the paper, took off the cigar band, jammed the thing into my screwed- up and complex face, then lit it, the cigar.
bad writing's like bad women: there's just not much you can do about it.
