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Show 86, Jeffries, Islamorada Resonant, vulgar and epiphanal. Downtown had shifted into a negative power zone. And there was that voice. Allied with the forces, cosmic would be putting it too strongly, but firm little Casteneda-powers that seemed to say to him: 'You. . .out of this town by sunset. . ." He walks Main Street, double-coated like a bum or a sled dog. Cheerless. Drear. Akron was going into the freezer. Coming from the west, the weather of Moscow. In the steamroom at the Y were two of the merry men who had once bought him a beer when he had blundered into Robin Hood's Bar up on West Exchange Street. Immediately there were so many invitations to dance that he would have needed a card to organize the evening. Mercy, how about the time when a friend had dragged him to see two of the boys from the weight room in the Mister Lake Erie finals; no sooner had the judges selected the laureled and oiled winner in his tank suit, than a flock of these gays up in the bleachers started rocking and chanting "Pull down your pants! Pull down your pants!" Ten years of these boys being cute. And still no letup: |
