going on

down at North Avenue 21 you just slept on the floor and there was
always some guy who just about stepped on your face on his way
to the crapper–
for that you had to curse him good, set him straight so the other
fellows would know enough to take another pathway or just
forget it and hold it.

there was a large hill of green, you could see it in daylight from
lock-up
and many of the fellows after kick-out, they wouldn’t go back to
the row, they’d just walk up into that hill and
they lived there like animals–
part of it was a parkground and some of them lived out of the
trashcans and others treked down to the row for feed and then
returned
and
they all sold their blood or
wine (“the one who gets my transfusion is going to be drunk for a
long time!” was the old
joke.)

there must have been 18 or 20 of them up there and
they were more or less as happy as corporate lawyers
stockbrokers or airline
pilots.

Civilization has sections just like an orange and when you
peel the skin away, pull it apart, chew at it, the
finalization is a mouthful of seed which you can either
swallow or spit
out.

most swallow it
like the guys down at North Avenue
21.