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454 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1984
The palimpsest technique
I found a three-pack of condoms in my wallet, two joint-ends in my turn up, and a cocktail stick in my rug. Is it any wonder I’ve got a boil on my ass? It must be the booze, it must be the junk, it must be all the pornography.
…I went off on a run that it would have taken me all the way downtown – further, to the Village, to Martina Twain – if the desert trolley hadn’t been there to check my sprint. The whole restaurant cheered me on as I fought my way out into the night.
‘Zugzwang,’ he said.
‘What the fuck does that mean?’
‘Literally, forced to move. It means that whoever has to move has to lose. If it were my turn now, you’d win. But it’s yours. And you lose.’
I still cry and babble and holler a lot, but then I always did. I drink and have fights, and gangway through the streets. I am still inner city.