I’m thinking about movies on 42nd Street and sniffing rags soaked with ether on a Times Square bench.  Avoiding all the hustlers as best I can.  I know they’ll take me for a ride if I give them the chance.  I just have it written all over my face:  SUCKER!  They sure can find me.  I just wanna get high and have a good time.  Between cops and cons, it’s gonna be a hell of a day.  Keep my booze covered by a brown paper bag.  I’m sure that’s fooling nobody.  Keep the ether down.  That may not be a good mix: ether and alcohol.  Maybe I’ll end up with a massive internal explosion.  It might happen while I’m walking down the street.  Boy that would really freak out a few people—and I’m sure it would get me on the evening news.  The tabloids would have a field day with it.  And me, well, that would be the misfortunate part of it.  But, ah, you can’t have bad news (which equals ratings) without a victim.

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allets's picture


"...without a victim." - slc



georgeschaefer's picture

there's always winners and

there's always winners and losers