Sublime

walked slowly in the same direction. He looked about forty, very dark with a melancholy clean-shaven face. Some violent emotion

I managed to keep up my habits performing cut-rate abortions in subway toilets.

In the final analysis there was no one you could trust to drink with you to the bottom of the bowl. A lonely thought.

AS WE PUSH OUR WAY THROUGH THE LUSH GREEN GRASS

Only Mr. Jones had always stopped to drop a needle in the long inward spiraling groove that encoded Archy, and listen to the vibrations.

tryst.