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Naked Lunch, Translated
I could feel the heat off, where they move, set up a whisper my spoons and dropper in Washington Square station, throw out their Devil Dolls stool pigeon, vault the turnstile fishing village train rail two flights of stairs. Young, beautiful, flat head, Ivy League, ad exec types of fruits will open the door to my back. Obviously I was the idea of his character. You know the type: the bartenders and taxi drivers, talk about the right hook and the Dodgers playing at Nedick's name by his attendant. A real asshole. Right on time, wearing a white windbreaker that narcotics Dick (think of tailing someone wearing a white trench coat. Trying to pretend I guess FAG) hit the platform. I can hear him say, taking my clothes in his left hand, his right hand has been placed in the way of his work: "I think you dropped something, man." but it is moving. "So long, flat feet!" I shouted, he, b-production come to fruition. I looked at the fruit's eyes, white teeth, Florida Tan, $200 sharkskin suits, Brooks Brothers dress shirts, negative news as a prop. "The only thing I've ever read is Little Abner". A square butt ... Talk about "pot," and smoke it now and then, and stay around to provide fast and Hollywood types. "Thank you, baby," I said, "I can see you are one of our own." His face lit up like a pinball machine, and folly, pink effect. "Tell on me and he did," I said. (Note: the grass is to notify United Kingdom slang thieves. ) When I approached, finger my dirty freak shark skin sleeve. "And we are blood brothers in the same dirty needles. I can tell you're a hot shot in his confidence." (Note: this is a cap the toxic garbage sold to addicts for clearing purposes. Often whistle-blowers. Hot shot is strychnine because it usually tastes, looks like spam. )
