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Show 33 and mean morning drunks. Not to mention the famous weather over which we always triumph. Have a drink." Fogarty raised his finger for a beer. Malone"s complaints were never new, only the details changed. "So why don't you quit?" said Fogarty. His beer arrived. It was a ritual question. The answers varied. "Art," Malone said today. "I have my art to feed. Paint and canvas to buy. I think of my job as a blind government grant. They don't know what I'm doing with their money. Besides, it's good exercise." Fogarty thought of Malone's paintings, abstractions of harsh color and violent design, natural extensions of his political thought. Malone was ultimately an anarchist. It was time to change the subject. "Hot today," said Fogarty. "Hotter than a five-dollar ten-speed," said Malone. "Which reminds me. You need a color television? One of the people on my route has a sweet little Sony he'll let go for a song. You could watch the news." "No news is good news," said Fogarty. "I don't want to know about how my neighborhood is being specifically threatened, or exactly how goddamn hot it is today." Which reminded him of the main reason he had sought out Malone today. There was something he wanted to know. "Who has it?" he asked. He meant the hot television. It was not what he wanted to know. "Guy on Eighth Avenue, down the street from you." |