You're a good kid, Pearl
The light bulb is naked, and it flares in his eyes cruellyHe inhales her powder, the sweet sweat of her armpits
How'd you get started, Pearl?
I'll tell ya over a glass of beer someday
Outside, the air is cold like a tart and icy appleHe feels a deep melancholy, pleasurable and extensive, but when he is in his room he cannot sleep
I been in this town too long(The brown bare hills deepening in the twilightThe night rolls away into the west WHERE IS THE BEAUTY WE LOST IN OUR YOUTH?
He gets up and looks out the windowJesus, I feel old, twenty-three and I'm an old manAfter a time he falls asleep
In the morning the sweat eddies corrosively in his eyes, and the steam erupts from the dish racksRub the lipstick
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I guess I'll be moving againIt's no good having it steady payBut this time there is less hope in it
A park bench is really too small for a man to sleep comfortablyIf his feet dangle over the edge, the slats cut into the back of his knees, and if he draws them up, he awakens with a cramp in his thighFor a skinny man, it's impossible to sleep on his sideThe boards grate against his hipbones, and his shoulder becomes stiffHe has to lie on his back with his knees propped toward the sky, and his hands under his head; when he gets up his fingers are numb for many minutes
Red is awakened by a jarring shock in his skullHe springs up, sees the policeman raising his nightstick to strike the soles of his shoes
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Okay, I'm movin', take it easy
You ought to know better than to stay here, Mac
In the false dawn of four Athe milk trucks are advancing' slowly down the silent streetsRed watches the horse chomp at his feed bag, and walks down toward the railroadAt an all-night hash house, across from the black iron mangle of the railroad yards, he nurses a cup of coffee and a doughnut until it is morningFor a long time he stares at the dirty floor and the white marble counter with its coffee rings, the round celluloid cake coversOnce he falls asleep with his head on the counter
Aaah, I been doing this too longIt's no good steady, and it's no good bummingYa lose whatever you want when you start goin' for it
At first it looks like his period of
louis vuitton speedy 30 relative prosperity and then like the tail of the comet, but it turns out to be neitherHe catches a job as a truck driver on an overnight freight route from Boston to New York, and holds it for two yearsRoute 1 wears a furrow in his mindBoston to Providence to Groton to New London to New Haven to Stamford to the Bronx to the markets, and back the next nightHe has a room on West 48th, near Tenth Avenue, and he can save money if he tries
But he hates the truckIt's the coal mines in open air, it jars at his back and in a thousand, a million tiny jounces, his kidneys begin to go and his stomach is too tricky in the morning to chance breakfastMaybe there has been one park bench too many, maybe there was too much rain in too many open places,
gucci wholesale but the truck route is no goodThe last hundred miles he always drives with his teeth clenchedHe drinks a lot, drifting along the bars on Ninth and Tenth Avenues, and sometimes he spends his free time in one movie house after another, the tawdry second-runs on 42nd Street
One night in a bar he buys an ordinary seaman's card for ten bucks from a drunk who is about to go under, and he quits his jobBut after a week of hanging around South Street, he gets tired of it and goes on a long drunkAfter a week, when his money is gone, he sells the seaman's card for five bucks and keeps going for an afternoon on the whisky it buys
He wakes up that night in an alley with a blood crust on his cheekWhen he grimaces he can feel the crust shredding into
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