'Geronimo!' the other kids yell, not quite in sync.

'He bails, right,' Chu says. He refers to index cards. Wayne's head makes the door rattle slightly. Chu says, 'Then you've got your Obsessive type, J.W. says, so eager to plateau-hop he doesn't even know the word patient patient, much less humble humble or or slog slog, when he gets stalled at a plateau he tries to like will will and and force force himself off it, by sheer force of work and drill and will and practice, drilling and obsessively honing and working more and more, as in frantically, and he overdoes it and gets hurt, and pretty soon he's all chronically messed up with injuries, and he hobbles around on the court still obsessively overworking, until finally he's hardly even able to walk or swing, and his ranking plummets, until finally one P.M. there's a little knock on his door and it's deLint, here for a little chat about your progress here at E.T.A.' himself off it, by sheer force of work and drill and will and practice, drilling and obsessively honing and working more and more, as in frantically, and he overdoes it and gets hurt, and pretty soon he's all chronically messed up with injuries, and he hobbles around on the court still obsessively overworking, until finally he's hardly even able to walk or swing, and his ranking plummets, until finally one P.M. there's a little knock on his door and it's deLint, here for a little chat about your progress here at E.T.A.'

'Banzai! El Bailo! See See ya!' ya!'

'Then what John considers maybe the worst type, because it can cunningly masquerade as patience and humble frustration. You've got the Complacent type, who improves radically until he hits a plateau, and is content with the radical improvement he's made to get to the plateau, and doesn't mind staying at the plateau because it's comfortable and familiar, and he doesn't worry about getting off it, and pretty soon you find he's designed a whole game around compensating for the weaknesses and c.h.i.n.ks in the armor the given plateau represents in his game, still - his whole game is based on this plateau now. And little by little, guys he used to beat start beating him, locating the c.h.i.n.ks of the plateau, and his rank starts to slide, but he'll say he doesn't care, he says he's in it for the love of the game, and he always smiles but there gets to be something sort of tight and hangdog about his smile, and he always smiles and is real nice to everybody and real good to have around but he keeps staying where he is while other guys hop plateaux, and he gets beat more and more, but he's content. Until one day there's a quiet knock at the door.'

'It's DeLint!'

'A quiet chat!'

'Geronzai!'

Van Vleck looks up at Wayne, who's now turned away with his hands against the door frame, shoving, one leg back, stretching the right calf. 'This is your advice, Mr. Wayne sir? This isn't Chu palming himself off as you again?'

They all want to know how Wayne does it, #2 continentally in 18's at just seventeen, and very likely #1 after the WhataBurger and already getting calls from ProServ agents Tavis has Lateral Alice Moore screen. Wayne's the most sought-after Big Buddy at E.T.A. You have to apply for Wayne as Buddy by random drawing.

LaMont Chu and T. P. Peterson are sending van Vleck optical daggers as Wayne turns around to stretch a hip-flexor and says he's said pretty much all he has to say.

'Todder, I admire your savvy, I admire a kid's certain worldly skepticism, no matter how misplaced it is here. So even though it f.u.c.ks me on the odds, so there's now like practically no way I can come out square,' M. Pemulis says in V.R.2, subdorm C, sitting on the very edge of the divan with a few feet of beige s.h.a.g between him and his four kids, all cross-legged on cushions; he says, 'I'll reward your worldly skepticism this once by letting you try it with only two, so like I've got just two cards here, and I hold them up, one in each hand....' He stops abruptly, knocks his temple with the heel of a hand that holds a Jack. 'Whoa, what am I thinking. We all gotta put in our fiveski here first.'

Otis P. Lord clears his throat: 'The ante.'

'Or it's called the pot,' says Todd Possalthwaite, laying a five on the little pile.

'Jaysus I'm thinking, sweet Jaysus what am I getting into with these kids that speak the lingo like veteran Jersey-sh.o.r.e croupiers. I got to be missing a widget or something. 't the f.u.c.k, though, you know what I'm saying? So Todd man you choose just one of the cards, we got the clubby Jack and the spade Queen here, and you choose... and so down they go both of them face-down, and I like swirl them around on the floor a little, not shuffle but swirl so they're in plain view the whole time, and you follllllowwwwwwww the card you chose, around and around, which like with three cards maybe I've got some chance you lose track but with two? With just two two?'

Ted Schacht in V.R.3 at his giant plasticene oral demonstrator, the huge dental mock-up, white planks of teeth and obscene pink gums, twine-size floss anch.o.r.ed around both wrists: 'The vital thing here gentlemen being not the force or how often you rotate to particulate-free floss but the motion motion, see, a soft sawing motion, gently up and down both ancipitals of the enamel' - demonstrating down the side of a bicuspid big as the kids' heads, the plasticene gum-stuff yielding with sick sucking sounds, Schacht's five kids all either glazed-looking or glued to their watch's second-hand - 'and then here's the key, here's here's the thing so few people understand: the thing so few people understand: down down below the ostensible gumline into the basal recessions at either side of the gingival mound that obtrudes between the teeth, down below the ostensible gumline into the basal recessions at either side of the gingival mound that obtrudes between the teeth, down below below, where your most pernicious particulates hide and breed.'

Troeltsch holds court in his, Pemulis and Schacht's room in Subdorm C, supinely upright against both of his and one of Schacht's pillows, the vaporizer chugging, one of his kids holding Kleenex at the ready.

'Boys, what it is is I'll tell you it's repet.i.tion. First last always. It's hearing the same motivational stuff over and over till sheer repet.i.tive weight makes it sink down into the gut. It's making the same pivots and lunges and strokes over and over and over again, at you boys's age it's reps for their own sake, putting results on the back burner, why they never give anybody the boot for insufficient progress under fourteen, it's repet.i.tive movements and motions for their own sake, over and over until the accretive weight of the reps sinks the movements themselves down under your like consciousness into the more nether regions, through repet.i.tion they sink and soak into the hardware, the C.P.S. The machine-language. The autonomical part that makes you breathe and sweat. It's no accident they say you Eat, Sleep, Breathe tennis here. These are autonomical. Accretive means acc.u.mulating, through sheer mindless repeated motions. The machine-language of the muscles. Until you can do it without thinking about it, play. At like fourteen, give and take, they figure here. Just do it. Forget about is there a point, of course there's no point. The point of repet.i.tion is there is no point. Wait until it soaks into the hardware and then see the way this frees up your head. A whole s.h.i.tload of head-s.p.a.ce you don't need for the mechanics anymore, after they've sunk in. Now the mechanics are wired in. Hardwired in. This frees the head in the remarkablest ways. Just wait. You start thinking a whole different way now, playing. The court might as well be inside you. The ball stops being a ball. The ball starts being something that you just know ought ought to be in the air, spinning. This is when they start getting on you about concentration. Right now of course you have to concentrate, there's no choice, it's not wired down into the language yet, you have to think about it every time you do it. But wait till fourteen or fifteen. Then they see you as being at one of the like crucial plateaus. Fifteen, tops. Then the concentration and character s.h.i.t starts. Then they really come after you. This is the crucial plateau where character starts to matter. Focus, self-consciousness, the chattering head, the cackling voices, the choking-issue, fear versus whatever isn't fear, self-image, doubts, reluctances, little tight-lipped cold-footed men inside your mind, cackling about fear and doubt, c.h.i.n.ks in the mental armor. Now these start to matter. Thirteen at the earliest. Staff looks at a range of thirteen to fifteen. Also the age of manhood-rituals in various cultures. Think about it. Until then, repet.i.tion. Until then you might as well be machines, here, is their view. You're just going through the motions. Think about the phrase: Going Through The Motions. Wiring them into the motherboard. You guys don't know how good you've got it right now.' to be in the air, spinning. This is when they start getting on you about concentration. Right now of course you have to concentrate, there's no choice, it's not wired down into the language yet, you have to think about it every time you do it. But wait till fourteen or fifteen. Then they see you as being at one of the like crucial plateaus. Fifteen, tops. Then the concentration and character s.h.i.t starts. Then they really come after you. This is the crucial plateau where character starts to matter. Focus, self-consciousness, the chattering head, the cackling voices, the choking-issue, fear versus whatever isn't fear, self-image, doubts, reluctances, little tight-lipped cold-footed men inside your mind, cackling about fear and doubt, c.h.i.n.ks in the mental armor. Now these start to matter. Thirteen at the earliest. Staff looks at a range of thirteen to fifteen. Also the age of manhood-rituals in various cultures. Think about it. Until then, repet.i.tion. Until then you might as well be machines, here, is their view. You're just going through the motions. Think about the phrase: Going Through The Motions. Wiring them into the motherboard. You guys don't know how good you've got it right now.'

James Albrecht Lockley Struck Jr. of Orinda CA prefers one long Q&A-type interface, with V.R.8's viewer playing ambient stuff against relaxation-vistas of surf, shimmering ponds, fields of nodding wheat.

'Time for about maybe two more, me droogies.'

'Say it's close and the guy starts kertw.a.n.ging you. b.a.l.l.s are way in and he's calling them out. You can't believe the flagrancy of it.'

'Implicit this is a no-linesman situation, Traub, you're saying.'

Creepily-blue-eyed Audern Tallat-Kelpsa chimes in: 'This is early rounds. The kind they give you only two b.a.l.l.s. Honor systems. All of a sudden there he is kertw.a.n.ging on you. It happens.'

'I know it happens.'

Traub says, 'Whether he's outright kertw.a.n.ging or just head-f.u.c.king you. Do you start kertw.a.n.ging back? t.i.t for tat? What do you do?'

'Do we a.s.sume there's a crowd.'

'Early round. Remote court. No witnesses. You're on your own out there. Do you kertw.a.n.g back.'

'You do not kertw.a.n.g back. You play the calls, not a word, keep smiling. If you still win, you'll have grown inside as a person.'

'If you lose?'

'If you lose, you do something private and unpleasant to his water-jug right before his next round.'

A couple of the kids have notebooks and studious nods. Struck is a prized tactician, very formal in B.B. group-sessions, something scholarly and detached about him his charges often revere.

'We can discuss private water-jug unpleasantness on Friday,' Struck says, looking at his watch.

A hand raised by the violently cross-eyed Carl Whale, age thirteen. Acknowledgment from Struck.

'Say you have to fart.'

'You're serious, Mobes, aren't you.'

'Jim sir, say you're playing out there, and suddenly you have to fart. It feels like one of those real hot nasty pressurized ones.'

'I get the picture.'

Now some empathic murmurs, exchanged looks. Josh Gopnik is nodding very intensely. Struck stands very straight to the right of the viewer, hands behind his back like an Oxford don.

'I mean the kind that's real urgent.' Whale looks briefly around him. 'But that it's not impossible it's actually a need to go to the bathroom, instead, masquerading as a fart.'

Now five heads are nodding, pained, urgent: clearly a vexing sub-14 issue. Struck examines a cuticle.

'Meaning defecate is what you mean, then, Mobes. Go to the bathroom.'

Gopnik looks up. 'Carl's saying the kind where you don't know what to do. What if you think you have to fart but it's really that you have to s.h.i.t?'

'As in it's a compet.i.tive situation, it's not a situation where you can go bearing down and forcing and see what happens.'

'So out of caution you don't,' Gopnik says.

'- fart,' Philip Traub says.

'But then you've denied yourself an urgent fart, and you're running around trying to compete with a terrible hot nasty uncomfortable fart riding around the court inside you.'

Two levels down, Ortho Stice and his brood: the little libraryish circle of soft chairs and lamps in the warm foyer off the front door to subdorm C: 'And what he says he says it's about more than tennis, mein kinder. Mein kinder Mein kinder, well it sort of means my family. He eyeb.a.l.l.s me right square in the eye and says it's about how to reach down into parts of yourself you didn't know were there and get down in there and live inside these parts. And the only way to get to them: sacrifice. Suffer. Deny. What are you willing to give. You'll hear him ask it if you're privileged to ever get an interface. The call could come at anytime: the man wants a mano-to-mano interface. You'll hear him say it over and over. What have you got to give. What are you willing to part with. I see you're looking a little pale there, Wagenknecht. Is this scary you bet your little pink personal a.s.ses it's scary. It's the big time. He'll tell you straight the f.u.c.k out. It's about discipline and sacrifice and honor to something way bigger than your personal a.s.s. He'll mention America. He'll talk patriotism and don't think he won't. He'll talk about it's patriotic play that's the high road to the thing. He's not American but I tell you straight out right here he makes me proud to be American. Mein kinder. He'll say it's how to learn to be a good American during a time, boys, when America isn't good its own self.'

There's a long pause. The front door is newer than the wood around it. 'I'd chew fibergla.s.s for that old man.'

The only reason the Buddies in V.R.8 can hear the little burst of applause from the foyer is because Struck won't hesitate to pause and consider silently as long as he has to. To the kids the pauses spell dignity and integrity and the still-water depth of a guy with nine years in at three different academies, and who has to shave daily. He exhales a slow breath through rounded lips, looking off up at the ceiling's guilloche border.

'Mobes, if it's me: I let it ride.'

'You let it out come what may?'

'A la contraire. I let it ride around inside all day if I have to. I make an iron rule: nothing escapes my bottom during play. Not a toot or a whistle. If I play hunched over I play hunched over. I take the discomfort in the name of dignified caution, and when it's especially bad I look up at sky between points and I say to the sky Thank You Sir may I have another. Thank You Sir may I have another.'

Gopnik and Tallat-Kelpsa are writing this down.

Struck says, 'That's if I want to hang for the long haul.'

'One side of the gingival mound, then up over the apex and down over the side of the gingival mound, then up over the apex and down over the other other side of the gingival mound, using you should cultivate a certain amount of touch with the string.' side of the gingival mound, using you should cultivate a certain amount of touch with the string.'

'Now the big question of character is do we let a fluke of a probably one-in-a-hundred lapse in concentration make us throw up our f.a.ggy hands and go dragging characterlessly back to our dens to lick the whimpering wounds, or do we narrow our eyes and put out the chin and say Pemulis we say we say Pemulis, Double or Nothing, when the odds remain so almost crazily stacked in our favor today.'

'So they do it on purpose?' Beak is asking. 'Try to make us hate them?'

Limits and rituals. It's almost time for communal dinner. Sometimes Mrs. Clarke in the kitchen lets Mario ring a triangle with a steel ladle while she rolls back the dining-room doors. They make the servers wear hairnets and little Ob/Gynish gloves. Hal could take out the plug and nip down into the tunnels, maybe not even all the way down into the Pump Room. Be only twenty minutes late. He's thinking in an abstract absent way about limits and rituals, listening to Blott give Beak his apercu. Like as in is there a clear line, a quantifiable difference between need and just strong desire. He has to sit up to spit in the wastebasket. There is a twinge in a tooth on his mouth's left side.

MARIO INCANDENZA'S FIRST AND ONLY EVEN REMOTELY ROMANTIC EXPERIENCE, THUS FAR In mid-October Y.D.A.U., Hal had invited Mario for a post-prandial stroll, and they were strolling the E.T.A. grounds between the West Courts and the hillside's tree-line, Hal with his gear bag. Mario could sense that Hal wanted to be able to go off by himself briefly, so he contrived (Mario did) to be very interested in some sort of leaf-and-twig ensemble off the path, and let Hal sort of melt away down the path. The whole area running along the tree-line and the thickets of like shrubbery and stickery bushes and heaven knew what all was covered with fallen leaves that were dry but had not yet quite all the way lost their color. The leaves were underfoot. Mario kind of tottered from tree to tree, pausing at each tree to rest. It was @ 1900h., not yet true twilight, but the only thing left of the sunset was a snout just over Newton, and the places under long shadows were cold, and a certain kind of melancholy sadness was insinuating itself into the grounds' light. The staggered lamps by the paths hadn't come on yet, however.

A lovely scent of illegally burned leaves wafting up from East Newton mixed with the foody smells from the ventilator turbines out of the back of the dining hall. Two gulls were in one place in the air over the dumpsters over by the rear parking lot. Leaves crackled underfoot. The sound of Mario walking in dry leaves was like: crackle crackle crackle stop; crackle crackle crackle stop.

An Empire Waste Displacement displacement vehicle whistled past overhead, rising in the start of its arc, its one blue alert-light atwinkle.

He was around where the tree-line bulged herniatically out toward the end of the West Courts' fencing. From deeper inside the thickets on the lip of the hillside came a tremendous crackling and thrashing of underbrush and trailing willow-branches, and who should heave into unexpected view but the U.S.S. Millicent Kent, a sixteen-year-old out of Montclair NJ, #1 Singles on the Girls 16's-A squad and two hundred kilos if she was a kilo. Southpaw, one-hander off the backhand side, a serve Donnie Stott likes to clock with radar, and chart. Mario's filmed the U.S.S. Millicent Kent for staff-a.n.a.lysis on several occasions. They exchange hearty Hi's. One of only a couple female E.T.A.s with visible veins in her forearms, object of a fiercely-wagered-on bench-press challenge against Schacht, Freer, and Petropolis Kahn that M. Pemulis had organized last spring, in which she'd topped Kahn and Freer refused to show and Schacht finally beat her but doffed his cap. Out for a staff-ordered weight-management post-dinner stroll, squeezing Penn 5's in both hands, in E.T.A. sweat pants and with an enormous violet bow either Scotch-taped or glued to the blunt rounded top of her hair. She told Mario she'd just seen the strangest thing farther back deeper in the thickets off the lip. Her hair was tall and rounded off in the shape of a kind of pill, not unlike a papal hat or a British constable's tall hat. Mario said the bow looked terrific, and what a surprise to come face to face like this out here in the chill dusk. Bridget Boone had said the U.S.S. Millicent Kent's coiffure looked like a missile protruding from its silo in preparation for launch. The last of the sun's snout was setting just over the tip of the U.S.S. Millicent's hair, which was almost osseously hard-looking, composed of dense woven nests of reticulate fibers like a dry loofa sponge, which she said over the summer a home-perm had misfired and left her hair a system of reticulate nests, and was only now loosening up enough even to attach a bow to. Mario said that well the bow set her off to a T, was all he had to say on the matter. (He hadn't literally said 'chill dusk.') The U.S.S.M.K. said she'd been amusing herself beating her way through one of the brambly thickets Mrs. Incandenza had - when she'd still spent time outdoors at all - planted to discourage part-time employees from short-cutting up the hillside to E.T.A., and had come upon a Husky VI-brand telescoping tripod, new and dully silvery-looking and set up on its three legs, right in the middle of the thicket. For no visible reason and with no footprints or visible evidence of path-beating anywhere around except the U.S.S. Millicent's own. The U.S.S. Millicent Kent stowed a tennis ball in each hip pocket and took Mario's claw and said here to walk this way and she'd show him real quick, and get his like feedback on the issue, and plus have a witness when they got back and she told people about it. Mario said the Husky VI came with its own pan head and cable release. With the girl supporting him with one hand and beating an eas.e.m.e.nt through the brush with the other they proceeded deeper into the thicket on the lip. The outdoor light was now the same hue as U.S.S.M.K.'s hairbow. She said she swore to G.o.d it was around here someplace. Mario said his late dad had used a somewhat less snazzy IV-model Husky back in his early days of making art-films, when he also used a homemade dolly and sandbags and halogen spots instead of kliegs. Several different species and types of birds were twittering.

The U.S.S. Millicent Kent told Mario that off the record she'd always felt he had the longest lushest prettiest lashes of any boy on two continents, three if you counted Australia. Mario thanked her kindly, calling her Ma'am and trying to fake a Southern accent.

The U.S.S. Millicent Kent said she wasn't sure what were her old footprints from finding the thicket with the tripod and what were their more recent footprints from trying to find the old footprints, and that she was worried because it was starting to get dark and they might not be able to find it and then Mario wouldn't believe she'd seen something as bats.h.i.t-sounding as a gleaming silvery tripod all set up for no reason in the middle of nowheresville.

Mario said he was pretty sure that Australia was a continent. Walking, he came up to around the bottom of U.S.S. Millicent's ribcage.

Mario heard crackling and thrashing from some other thicket nearby but was certain it wasn't Hal, since Hal very rarely made a lot of motion-noise either outside or in-.

The U.S.S. Millicent Kent told Mario that though she was an admittedly great player, w/ an overwhelming haul-a.s.s-up-to-the-net-and-loom-over-it-like-a-t.i.tan game in the Betty Stove/Venus Williams power-game tradition, and headed for an almost limitless future in the Show, she'd confide in him in private out here that she'd never really loved compet.i.tive tennis, that her real love and pa.s.sion was modern interpretive dance, at which she admittedly had less unconsciously native gifts and talents to bring to bear, but which she loved, and had spent just about all her off-court time as a little girl practicing in a leotard in front of a double-width mirror in her room at home in suburban Montclair NJ, but that tennis was what she had limitless talent at and got emotional strokes and tuition-waiver boarding-school offers in, and that she'd been desperate to get into a boarding school. Mario asked if she could recall if the Husky-VI tripod had been the TL one with waffle-gridded rubber tips on the legs and a 360 pan head or the SL one with unwaffled tips and only a 180 pan head that swiveled in an arc instead of a full circle. The U.S.S. Millicent revealed that she'd accepted a scholarship to E.T.A. at age nine for the sole reason of getting away from her father. She referred to her father as her Old Man, which you can just tell she capitalizes. Her mother had left home when the U.S.S. Millicent was only five, running off very abruptly with a man sent by what had then been called Con-Edison to do a free home-energy-efficiency a.s.sessment. It had been six years since she'd laid an eyeball on her Old Man, but to the best of her recall he was almost three meters tall and morbidly obese, which had been why every mirror and bathtub in the house had been double-width. One older sister who'd been deeply involved in synchronized swimming had got pregnant and married in high school soon after her mother's departure.

All this time there's been more crackling and crashing off up the hillside. Mario has trouble on any kind of declined grade. Some sort of bird's sitting in the top branch of a little tree and looking at them without saying anything. Mario thinks suddenly of a joke he remembers hearing Michael Pemulis tell: 'If two people get married in West Virginia and then pull up stakes and move to Ma.s.sachusetts and then if they decide they want to get a divorce, what's the biggest problem getting a divorce?'

The U.S.S.M.K. says her other older sister had at just fifteen joined the Ice Capades of all things, and was in the back-up-like chorus where the biggest artistic challenge was not b.u.mping into people and either falling or making them fall.

'Getting a divorce from your sister, because in West Virginia Pemulis said a lot of people who get married are brother and sister.'

'Hold my hand.'

'He was only joking, though.'

By now the light was about the same color as the ash and clinkers in the bottom of a Weber Grill. The U.S.S. Millicent Kent was leading them in a set of slightly diminishing circles. Then, she said, at age eight she came home early from after-school drills at the U.S.T.A. Jr. Facility in Pa.s.saic NJ looking forward to slipping into the old leotard and getting in some modern interpretive dancing up in her room, only to come home suddenly and find her father wearing her leotard. Which needless to say didn't fit very well. And with the small front portion of his huge bare feet squeezed into a pair of strapless pumps Mrs. Kent had left behind in her haste. In the dining room he'd moved all the furniture over to the side of, in front of the really wide mirror, in a grotesquely tiny and bulging violet leotard, capering. Mario says violet's really the U.S.S. Millicent's color. She says that was the exact creepy word for it: capering. capering. Pirouetting and rondelling. Simpering, as well. The crotch of her leotard looked like a slingshot, it was so deformed. He hadn't heard her come in. U.S.S. Millicent asked Mario if he'd ever seen a girl's yin-yang before. Obscene mottled hirsute flesh had pooched and spilled out over every centimeter of the leotard's perimeter, she recalled. She'd had a voluptuous figure even at eight, she told Mario, but the Old Man was in a whole different-sized ballpark altogether. Mario kept saying Golly Ned, all he could think of to say. His flesh jiggled and bounced as he capered. It was repellent, she said. There was no sign of a Husky VI or any other model of tripod in any of the thickets and boscages. Her literal term for it was 'yin-yang.' But her Old Man wasn't just a cross-dressing transvest.i.te, she said; it turned out they always had to be a relative's female clothes. She said she always used to wonder why her sisters' one-pieces and figure-skating skirts always looked so askewly baggy and elastic-shot, since the sisters didn't exactly wear tiny little malnourished sizes themselves. The Old Man didn't hear her come in and he capered and jeteed for several more minutes until she happened to catch his simpering eye in the mirror, she said. That's when she knew she had to get away, she said. And Mario's own old man's Admissions lady had called out of the blue that very evening, she said. Like it had been fate. Serendipity. Kismet. Pirouetting and rondelling. Simpering, as well. The crotch of her leotard looked like a slingshot, it was so deformed. He hadn't heard her come in. U.S.S. Millicent asked Mario if he'd ever seen a girl's yin-yang before. Obscene mottled hirsute flesh had pooched and spilled out over every centimeter of the leotard's perimeter, she recalled. She'd had a voluptuous figure even at eight, she told Mario, but the Old Man was in a whole different-sized ballpark altogether. Mario kept saying Golly Ned, all he could think of to say. His flesh jiggled and bounced as he capered. It was repellent, she said. There was no sign of a Husky VI or any other model of tripod in any of the thickets and boscages. Her literal term for it was 'yin-yang.' But her Old Man wasn't just a cross-dressing transvest.i.te, she said; it turned out they always had to be a relative's female clothes. She said she always used to wonder why her sisters' one-pieces and figure-skating skirts always looked so askewly baggy and elastic-shot, since the sisters didn't exactly wear tiny little malnourished sizes themselves. The Old Man didn't hear her come in and he capered and jeteed for several more minutes until she happened to catch his simpering eye in the mirror, she said. That's when she knew she had to get away, she said. And Mario's own old man's Admissions lady had called out of the blue that very evening, she said. Like it had been fate. Serendipity. Kismet.

'Yin-yang,' Mario offered, nodding. The U.S.S. Millicent's hand was large and hot and at the level of sogginess of a bathmat that's been used several times in a row in quick succession.

Her second-oldest sister, many years later, had informed the U.S.S.M.K. that the first time anybody'd had any inklings about the Old Man was an episode when the older sister was very small and Mrs. K. had sewed her a special costume complete with gold-lame bow & arrow for playing Cupid in the school Valentine's Day pageant, and the sister's school had got out early one day after an asbestos scare and she'd come unexpectedly home and found the Old Man in the bas.e.m.e.nt rumpus room in tiny wings and hideously distended diaper striking a pose from a rather well-known t.i.tian oil in the Met's High Renaissance Wing, and had struggled with denial and own-perceptions-doubting for quite some time thereafter, until a hysterical episode during rehearsals for an Ice Capades Valentine's Day number brought all the feelings surging up and broke the denial, and the Ice Capades' Employee a.s.sistance Office counselling staff helped her start to work it all through.

At which point U.S.S. Millicent stopped them in an unp.r.i.c.kly thicket of what later turned out to be poison sumac and turned with a strange glint in the one eye that wasn't in pine-shadow and crushed Mario's large head to the area just below her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and said she needed to confess that Mario's eyelashes and vest with extendable police lock he used for staying upright in one place had for quite some time now driven her right around the bend with sensual feeling. What Mario perceived as a sudden radical drop in the prevailing temperature was in fact the U.S.S. Millicent Kent's s.e.xual stimulation sucking tremendous quant.i.ties of ambient energy out of the air surrounding them. Mario's face was so squashed against the U.S.S. Millicent's thorax that he had to contort his mouth way out to the left to breathe. U.S.S.M.K.'s hairbow became detached and fluttered down through Mario's sightline like a giant crazed violet moth. U.S.S.M.K. was trying to undo Mario's corduroys but was frustrated by the complex system of snaps and fasteners at the bottom of his police lock's Velcro vest, which overlapped his trouser's own fasteners, and Mario tried to reconfigure his mouth somehow to both breathe and warn the U.S.S.M.K. that he was incredibly ticklish in the area of the bellyb.u.t.ton and directly below. He could now start to hear his brother Hal somewhere to the above and east, calling Mario's name at a moderate volume. The U.S.S. Millicent Kent was saying there was no way Mario could be any more nervous than she was about what was happening between them. It's true that the sounds of Mario sucking air out of a severely leftward-contorted mouth could have been interpretable as the heavy breathing of s.e.xual stimulation. It was when the U.S.S. Millicent wrapped one arm around his shoulder for leverage and forced her other hand up under the hem of the tight vest and then down inside the trousers and briefs, rooting for a p.e.n.i.s, that Mario became so ticklish that he began to double up, clearing his face of U.S.S. Millicent's front and laughing out loud in such a distinctive high-pitched way that Hal had no trouble beelining right upon them, compromised though his navigational systems were after fifteen or so secret minutes alone in the fragrant pines.

Mario later said it was just like when there was a word on the tip of your tongue that try as you might you can't remember until the exact second you stop trying, and in it pops, right into your head: it was when the three of them were walking together back up the hillside toward the tree-line's lip, not trying to do anything but get back to Comm.-Ad. by the most direct route in the dark, that they stumbled upon the cinematic tripod, a dully glinting TL waffle-tipped Husky, in the middle of what wasn't such a very tall or thick thicket at all.

30 APRIL - YEAR OF THE DEPEND ADULT UNDERGARMENT Steeply said 'Choosing Boston as your Ops center, after all, which to us signifies: the place of the supposed Entertainment's origin.'

Marathe made a gesture of being willing to take time and play along, if Steeply wished it. 'But also the city Boston U.S.A. has logic. Your closest city to the Convexity. Closest therefore to Quebec. Within as you say the distance of spit.' His wheelchair squeaked very slightly whenever he moved. An automobile horn somewhere between the city and themselves blew a sustained blast. It grew always colder down on the desert floor; they could feel this. He felt grat.i.tude for his windbreaker.

Steeply flicked some ashes from his cigarette with a coa.r.s.e thumb-gesture that was not yet feminine. 'But we're not any more sure that they actually do have copies. Also, does this quote "anti"-Entertainment the film's director supposedly made to counter the lethality: does it really also exist; this really could be some sort of game for you and the F.L.Q., 47 47 to hold out the promise of the anti-Entertainment as a chip for concessions. As some kind of remedy or antidote.' to hold out the promise of the anti-Entertainment as a chip for concessions. As some kind of remedy or antidote.'

'Of this anti-film that antidotes the seduction of the Entertainment we have no evidence except craziness of rumors.'

Steeply used a technical interviewer's device of pretending to occupy himself with small physical ch.o.r.es of preening and hygiene, delaying, to have Marathe elaborate himself more fully. The lights of the city Tucson with their movements and twinkling made a globe of light such as on ceilings at les salles de danser in Val d'Or, Quebec. Marathe's wife was dying slowly of ventricular restenosis. 48 48 He thought: He thought: die twice. die twice.

Marathe said: 'And also why do they never send you into the field as yourself, Steeply? This is to say in appearance. The last time you were - what is it I hope to say - a Negro, for almost one year, no?'

U.S.A. persons' shrugs are always as if trying to lift a heavy thing. 'Haitian,' Steeply said. 'I was Haitian. Some negroid tendencies in the persona, maybe.' Marathe listened to Steeply be silent. A U.S.A. coyote sounds more like a high-strung dog. The automobile's horn continued, sounding to the men forlorn and somehow nautical out below in the dark. The feminine manner to examine the fingernails was to raise the whole hand's back into view instead of malely curling the nails in over the upturned palm; Marathe recalled knowing this from a very young age. Steeply would pick at the corners of his lip, then for an interval change to examining the fingernails. His silences seemed always comfortable and contained. He was a competent operative. More cold air came, odd eddied breezes up in over the shelf from the desert's floor, puffs of sudden air as if from the turning of a volume's pages. His bare arms had the plucked-chicken look of chilled and bare skin in his grotesque sleeveless dress. Marathe had not been aware of when during the falling of night Steeply had removed the absurd sungla.s.ses, but decided the exact moment of this did not matter for reporting every word and gesture back to M. Fortier. Again the coyote, and also another farther off, perhaps to answer. The sounds were like that of a domestic dog being given low voltage. Les a.s.sa.s.sins' M. Fortier and M. Broullime and some others of his comrades-on-wheels believed Remy Marathe to be eidetic, near-perfect in recall and detail. Marathe, who could remember several incidents of crucial observations he had failed to later recall, knew this was not true.

30 APRIL - YEAR OF THE DEPEND ADULT UNDERGARMENT Several times also Marathe called U.S.A. to Steeply 'Your walled nation' or 'Your murated nation.'

An oiled guru sits in yogic full lotus in Spandex and tank top. He's maybe forty. He's in full lotus on top of the towel dispenser just above the shoulder-pull station in the weight room of the Enfield Tennis Academy, Enfield MA. Saucers of muscle protrude from him and run together so that he looks almost crustacean. His head gleams, his hair jet-black and extravagantly feathered. His smile could sell things. n.o.body knows where he comes from or why's he's allowed to stay, but he's always in there, sitting yogic about a meter off the rubberized floor of the weight room. His tank top says TRANSCEND in silkscreen; on the back it's got DEUS PROVIDEBIT DEUS PROVIDEBIT in Day-Glo orange. It's always the same tank top. Sometimes the color of the Spandex leggings changes. in Day-Glo orange. It's always the same tank top. Sometimes the color of the Spandex leggings changes.

This guru lives off the sweat of others. Literally. The fluids and salts and fatty acids. He's like a beloved nut. He's an E.T.A. inst.i.tution. You do like maybe some sets of benches, some leg-curls, inclined abs, crunches, work up a good hot sh.e.l.lac of sweat; then, if you let him lick your arms and forehead, he'll pa.s.s on to you some little nugget of fitness-guru wisdom. His big one for a long time was: 'And the Lord said: Let not the weight thou wouldst pull to thyself exceed thine own weight.' His advice on conditioning and injury-prevention tends to be pretty solid, is the consensus. His tongue is little and rough but feels good, like a kitty's. It isn't like a f.a.ggy or s.e.xual thing. Some of the girls let him, too. He's harmless as they come. He supposedly went way back with Dr. Incandenza, the Academy's founder, in the past.

Some of the newer kids think he's a creep and want him out of there. What kind of guru wears Spandex and lives off others' perspiration? they complain. G.o.d only knows what he does in there when the weight room's closed at night, they say.

Sometimes the newer kids who won't even let him near them come in and set the resistance on the shoulder-pull at a weight greater than their own weight. The guru on the towel dispenser just sits there and smiles and doesn't say anything. They hunker, then, and grimace, and try to pull the bar down, but, like, lo: the overweighted shoulder-pull becomes a chin-up. Up they go, their own bodies, toward the bar they're trying to pull down. Everyone should get at least one good look at the eyes of a man who finds himself rising toward what he wants to pull down to himself. And I like how the guru on the towel dispenser doesn't laugh at them, or even shake his head sagely on its big brown neck. He just smiles, hiding his tongue. He's like a baby. Everything he sees. .h.i.ts him and sinks without bubbles. He just sits there. I want to be like that. Able to just sit all quiet and pull life toward me, one forehead at a time. His name is supposedly Lyle.

It was yrstruly and C and Poor Tony that crewed that day and everything like that. The AM were wicked bright and us a bit sick however we scored our wake ups boosting some items at a sidewalk sale in the Harvard Squar where it were warm upping and the snow coming off onnings and then later Poor Tony ran across an old Patty citizen type of his old aquaintance from like the Cape and Poor Tony got over and pretended like he would give a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b On The House and we got the citizen to get in his ride with us and crewed on him good and we got enough $ off the Patty type to get straightened out for true all day and crewed on him hard and C wanted we should elemonade the Patty's map for keeps and everything like that and take his ride to this understanding slope strip shop he knows in Chinatown but Poor Tony turns white as a s.h.i.t and said by no means and put up an arguement and everything like that and we just left the type there in his vehicle off Mem Dr we broke the jaw for insentive not to eat no cheese and C insisted and was not 2Bdenied and took off one ear which there was a mess and everything like that and then C throws the ear away after in a dumster so yrstrulys' like so what was the exact pernt to that like. The dumster was with the dumsters out by Steves' donuts in the Enfield Squar. We go back to the Brighton Projects to cop and Roy Tony was always there on his bench in the Playground in late AM but now all the Project Nigers was awake and out in the Playground and it was tense but it was day time and everything like that and we cop half a bundle from Roy Tony and we go down to the library at Copley where we stash our personnel works when we crewed and went into the mensroom where there was severel works on the floor allready that early and got straight in the stall and C and yrstruly had a beef about who shot three and who got two and we made Poor Tony give us up his third bag and then but we had to cop for that nite and tomorrow AM still which was XMas and had to cop in advance, its' a never ending strugle its' a full time job to stay straight and there is no vacation for XMas at anytime. Its' a f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h of a life dont' let any body get over on you diffrent. And back we go to the Harvard Squar however on arrival Poor Tony wanted he should hang for lunch time with his red leather f.a.gs in the Bow&Arrow and pretty much I can tolerate f.a.gs when alone but together yrstruly I cant' f.u.c.king stand f.a.gs and yrstruly and C said f.u.c.k this s.h.i.t and we screwed out and go up to the Central Squar where it was cool offing and the onnings re freezing and everything like that and snowing and boosted NyQuil at the CVS Drug where we go to the mop aile and employ a mophandle in tilting the mirror over the NyQuil aile and boosted NyQuil in Cs' coat and got messed up on NyQuil and scored a bookbag off a foran slope studn type kid on the Redline platform but it only had books and disks and the diskcase was f.u.c.king plastic and into a dumster with it it goes but also at this time we come up and run into Kely Vinoy that was working her corner by the dumster by Cheap-O records in the Squar by the email place and shes' dopesick having a conversession with Eckwus and an other man and Eckwus said he said Stokely Darkstar just got freetested again at the Fenway and confirmed a big Boot 8.8 hes' got the Virus for sure and Purpleboy said he said Dark-star said how if he was going down he didnt' give a s.h.i.t and wasnt' going to give a s.h.i.t if he gave some others the Virus thru trancemission and the Word was out&about dont' share Stokely Darkstars' works dont' use works off Stokely Darkstar no matter how sick you are even if your' dyng for it get other works. Like C said any thing would count in your mind when your' sick and had copped and was minus works and Darkstar had works. We all every crew with heads left have personnel works for only ourselves that we use except blownout old hose like Kely and Purpleboy there Man takes there $ and there works and Hes' the only one can give them there shots and keep Kely just this side of dopesick 24-7 for insentive for her to make him more $ and everything like that, theres' nothing wurse than a Pimp and Boston Pimps are the wurst there' 10X wurse than NYC Pimps that are supperst to be so hartless in NYC where yrstruly petaled a.s.s in the Columbus Squar for a time of my youth like Stokely Darkstar before departing for green pastures, and we had a conversession but were' coming down and it was getting dark and snowing for a White XMas and if we didnt' crew before like 2200 Roy Tonys' Nigers would be too drunk to keep them from beefing with us and thered' be a beef and everything like that if we go to cop after 2200 and who needs a grief so back we Redline to the Harvard Squar and all the foran studns are in the bars and we locate Poor Tony smoking hash with f.a.gs back of Au Bon Pain and say lets roll a foran studn stuck here for XMas in the bars and cop before 2200 and so we all go on the ice from the frozen melted snow to the Bow&Arrow in the Squar with Poor Tony and Lolasister and Susan T. Cheese who I f.u.c.king cant' stand and got in there and made Susan T. Cheese buy beers and we wait and no studns are leaving alone to roll but a older type individual who any body could see is no studn but is legless on shots alone at the bar f.u.c.king shatered slumped over is getting ready to depart for green pastures and Poor Tony tells Lolasister to screw she crews with Poor Tony some times but not if its' wet work and with Cs' involvement its' always wet work, and yrstruly I inform Susan T. Cheese she new better than not to screw as well and the older individual de parts shatered and holding onto walls in a hicla.s.s and promising coat for the possibility of $ and pernts his old nose this way and that and everything like that thru the Bow&Arrow window C wipes the steam off, and has a conversession with a Santaclaus ringing a big bell for the kettle and were' like Jesus its' a never ending strugle to wait and cop but after awhile finally after stifing the Santaclaus we watch he picks a direction finally at last up Ma.s.s Ave toward the Central Squar on foot, and Poor Tony beats it around the block to get up in front of him around the block on the ice in his f.u.c.king heels and feather snake around his neck and gets him some how Poor Tony always knows how over to the dumsters' alley by Bay Bank off Sherman St, and yrstruly and C crew on the individual and roll him and C messes up his older map to a large degree and we leave him in no condition to eat cheese in a snow drift of materil under the dumster, and C again wants to siphon out a vehicle on Ma.s.s Av and set him on fire but he has 400 $ on his person and then some and a coat with a fury collar and a watch we realy scored and C even gosofar to take the non studns' shoes which they dont' fit, and in the dumster they go.

And but so but back we go to the Brighton Projects but its' post 2200 its' too late Roy Tony hasnt' got his p.i.s.sboys out hes' not open for comerce and yet it is like a Niger Convenssion in the Playground of the Brighton Projects with there gla.s.s pipes and there Crown Royal in purple bags and everything like that in the Playground of the Projects and if they smell were' holding this kindof $ amounts they will crew on us in numbers there' animals at nite with there purple velvet bags and p-dope and Redi Rok crack, one large Niger in a Patriots hat has a hart incident and downhegoes on the black top by the swing set right in front of us and none of his brothers brothers unquot gosofar to do any thing he lays there there' animals at nite and we screw out with rickytick speed from the Brighton Projects, and we converse. And Poor Tony wants to just go over the line to the Enfield Squar and try and just cop p-dope from Delphina down by the Empire hangers or else what else hang with the f.a.gs at Steves' donuts and hear who else is holding weight in Enfield or Allston and everything like that, but Delphinas' p is from bunk the Word is out&about that its' all Manitol and kwai9 you might as well f.u.c.king cop XLax or Schweppes and C dopeslaps Poor Tony and C wants to Redline down to Chinatown but Poor Tony turns white as a s.h.i.t and says Chinatowns' too dear in $ and everything like that, even for like bundles, Dr. Wo is 200 $ but atleast its' always good and but we have 400 $ and then some and C pernts out we can f.u.c.king well afford Wos' well known exellent skeet for once at XMas and Poor Tony stamps a hiheel and says but how weve' got enough $ to stay straight and get Lolasister straight for XMas and all lay up and not have to never ending strugle at XMas and two or more days after that if we dont' blow it on XMas Eve in Chinatown instead of waiting which is a good pernt but when has any body known C to ever wait he gets dopesick faster than us and everything like that and is all p.i.s.s and vinegar for Wo and starting with the Shivers and with the noses' mucis all ready and everything like that and C is not 2Bdenied and we say we are s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g down to Chinatown and if Poor Tony dont' want to come he can take a like a giant breath and hold it in the Squar until we get back and well' cop for him, and Poor Tony says he might be a d.i.c.ksucking f.a.g but hes' not a starry eyed' moroon. unquot gosofar to do any thing he lays there there' animals at nite and we screw out with rickytick speed from the Brighton Projects, and we converse. And Poor Tony wants to just go over the line to the Enfield Squar and try and just cop p-dope from Delphina down by the Empire hangers or else what else hang with the f.a.gs at Steves' donuts and hear who else is holding weight in Enfield or Allston and everything like that, but Delphinas' p is from bunk the Word is out&about that its' all Manitol and kwai9 you might as well f.u.c.king cop XLax or Schweppes and C dopeslaps Poor Tony and C wants to Redline down to Chinatown but Poor Tony turns white as a s.h.i.t and says Chinatowns' too dear in $ and everything like that, even for like bundles, Dr. Wo is 200 $ but atleast its' always good and but we have 400 $ and then some and C pernts out we can f.u.c.king well afford Wos' well known exellent skeet for once at XMas and Poor Tony stamps a hiheel and says but how weve' got enough $ to stay straight and get Lolasister straight for XMas and all lay up and not have to never ending strugle at XMas and two or more days after that if we dont' blow it on XMas Eve in Chinatown instead of waiting which is a good pernt but when has any body known C to ever wait he gets dopesick faster than us and everything like that and is all p.i.s.s and vinegar for Wo and starting with the Shivers and with the noses' mucis all ready and everything like that and C is not 2Bdenied and we say we are s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g down to Chinatown and if Poor Tony dont' want to come he can take a like a giant breath and hold it in the Squar until we get back and well' cop for him, and Poor Tony says he might be a d.i.c.ksucking f.a.g but hes' not a starry eyed' moroon.

And so offwego and everything like that with 400 $ on the Orangeline, and thru a f.u.c.ked up circ.u.mstances yrstruly and C almost end up raping a older type nurse in a white nurses' uniform and coat on the train but we dont' and but Poor Tony seems white and detracted on the train playng with his feather snake and says he says he seems in his mind maybe to recall an involvment in some type deal where Dr. Wo might of got slightly got over on and burnt and that maybe down in Chinatown we could air on the side of low profiles and try to cop some where else except from the Wos'. Except Dr. Wo is who we know. C is Wos' former aquaintance from crewing with slopes on the North sh.o.r.e for Whity Sorkin in the days of his youth. C is not 2Bdenied. And so at the Orangeline Tstop we grab a fat cab to about two blocks from Hung Toys and screw out of the cab at a light and the thing with fat cabbies is they cant' run after you and Poor Tony is p.i.s.ser to watch teara.s.sing it down the street in hiheels with a feather stoal. Poor Tony runs right by the front of Hung Toys, this is by pryor agreement to wait for us low profile down the street and yrstruly and C go in Hung Toys where they dont' open till 2300 and sell tea tea unquot like 100 Proof tea till all hours and everything like that and never get Inspected because Dr. Wo has arrangements with Chinatowns' Finest. XMas is noncelebrated in Chinatown. Dr. Wo a good thing about Wo is hes' always there in Hung Toys at known times. Here theres' all old slope racial type ladies sitting in booths eating noddles and drinking quot tea out of white cups the size of a shotgla.s.s and everything like that. With small slope kids teara.s.sing it all over and older men in like jew caps and skinny beerds out of just the middle of there chin but Dr. Wo is only middle aged and wears iron gla.s.ses and a tie and looks more like a banker for a slope but he is 100 % business and icecold all the way down for slope type comerce plus hes' connected bigtime and not to be f.u.c.ked or got over on if some body has a head left and yrstruly I cant' believe Poor Tony would ever take part of tryng to crew on Wo who he knows thru C in even the smallest comerce and if he did C says he sure never heard about it nor saw any of the skeet or anything like that, and why. Cs' the one that knows Wo. We arranged Poor Tony to wait for us out side and try to be low profile. Its' sub 0 snow and hes' in a leather spring coat and stoal and brown wig thats' not as good as a hat and h.e.l.l' freeze his low profile b.a.l.l.s off and C was tryng to smile and he told Dr. Wo we needed three bundles and Dr. Wo was smiling in his slope manner said the boosting life must surely be exellent and C laughed and said unquot like 100 Proof tea till all hours and everything like that and never get Inspected because Dr. Wo has arrangements with Chinatowns' Finest. XMas is noncelebrated in Chinatown. Dr. Wo a good thing about Wo is hes' always there in Hung Toys at known times. Here theres' all old slope racial type ladies sitting in booths eating noddles and drinking quot tea out of white cups the size of a shotgla.s.s and everything like that. With small slope kids teara.s.sing it all over and older men in like jew caps and skinny beerds out of just the middle of there chin but Dr. Wo is only middle aged and wears iron gla.s.ses and a tie and looks more like a banker for a slope but he is 100 % business and icecold all the way down for slope type comerce plus hes' connected bigtime and not to be f.u.c.ked or got over on if some body has a head left and yrstruly I cant' believe Poor Tony would ever take part of tryng to crew on Wo who he knows thru C in even the smallest comerce and if he did C says he sure never heard about it nor saw any of the skeet or anything like that, and why. Cs' the one that knows Wo. We arranged Poor Tony to wait for us out side and try to be low profile. Its' sub 0 snow and hes' in a leather spring coat and stoal and brown wig thats' not as good as a hat and h.e.l.l' freeze his low profile b.a.l.l.s off and C was tryng to smile and he told Dr. Wo we needed three bundles and Dr. Wo was smiling in his slope manner said the boosting life must surely be exellent and C laughed and said most most exellent Cs' tight with slopes he does the talking and everything like that, and he says were' going to lay up low profile for the XMas vacation and not crew because I had a rape type situation from an older nurse last nite on the T and almost got pinched by the Ts' Finest and Dr. Wo nods in a special subservant manner he uses for non slopes who hes' realy polite with but hes' a dictater to his slopes when we see him with his subservant slopes but with us were' allike most polite and everything like conversession and its' nice but expensive but it feels nice at the time but Wo finishes his so called exellent Cs' tight with slopes he does the talking and everything like that, and he says were' going to lay up low profile for the XMas vacation and not crew because I had a rape type situation from an older nurse last nite on the T and almost got pinched by the Ts' Finest and Dr. Wo nods in a special subservant manner he uses for non slopes who hes' realy polite with but hes' a dictater to his slopes when we see him with his subservant slopes but with us were' allike most polite and everything like conversession and its' nice but expensive but it feels nice at the time but Wo finishes his so called tea tea and Wo goes back behind the curtains in the back of Hung Toys thats' a giant brightred curtain with purple mountains or hills and clouds that are flyng snakes with leather wings that is one curtain yrstruly would want to boost for personnel hanging use that no body that isnt' a slope and isnt' in with Wo cant' never go behind it but you can see when he opens it and goes behind the curtain it looks like merly more old slope ladies sitting on packing cases with slope writing eating more noddles in bowls they hold about like a millmeter from their yellow maps and everything like that. Slopes rarly stop shovling in the old noddles. Stokely Darkstar calls them maggoteaters and subservant slopes keep going in and out of the curtain while Wos' back there a longer than avrege time and Cs' got the Shivers and starting to jones and dope-fiends are full of super station and he says to yrstruly he says the f.u.c.k he says maybe what if Poor Tony realy did take part with burning Wo and what if a slope sees Poor Tony out side and is one of these slopes going in and out of the curtain maybe telling Wo, like ratting out Poor Tony as our aquaintance, and my mucis is starting and were' jonesing super statiously over PT and wheres' Wo behind the curtain and everything like that, tryng to smile and conversession ultralow, drinking quot tea thats' like schnapps only wurse and green. And we jones and Dr. Wo comes back finally at last out smiling subservantly with all the wonderful skeet three bundles in a newspaper who could f.u.c.king read it but the pictures are of slope VIPs' in suits and Wo sits down, and Wo never sits down at the booth with the skeet it isnt' done in his comerce, and Wos' hands are folded over our skeet in the thing and Wo smiling says he asks C if weve' seen goodold Poor Tony or Susan T. Cheese around we crew with Poor Tony in boosting life did we not he said. C he says PT is a f.u.c.king d.i.c.ksucking f.a.g queer and a proven cheeseater and wed' f.u.c.ked up his map and Cheese and Lolasisters' map in a beef and didnt' crew with f.a.gs since aprox the autum period. C is pouring mucis and tryng to smile cusually, Dr. Wo laughed in a harty fashion and said exellent and Wo leaned over our skeet sayng if we should happenbychance to see Poor Tony or them to please give Poor Tony his quite best regards and wish him prosparity and a thousand and Wo goes back behind the curtains in the back of Hung Toys thats' a giant brightred curtain with purple mountains or hills and clouds that are flyng snakes with leather wings that is one curtain yrstruly would want to boost for personnel hanging use that no body that isnt' a slope and isnt' in with Wo cant' never go behind it but you can see when he opens it and goes behind the curtain it looks like merly more old slope ladies sitting on packing cases with slope writing eating more noddles in bowls they hold about like a millmeter from their yellow maps and everything like that. Slopes rarly stop shovling in the old noddles. Stokely Darkstar calls them maggoteaters and subservant slopes keep going in and out of the curtain while Wos' back there a longer than avrege time and Cs' got the Shivers and starting to jones and dope-fiends are full of super station and he says to yrstruly he says the f.u.c.k he says maybe what if Poor Tony realy did take part with burning Wo and what if a slope sees Poor Tony out side and is one of these slopes going in and out of the curtain maybe telling Wo, like ratting out Poor Tony as our aquaintance, and my mucis is starting and were' jonesing super statiously over PT and wheres' Wo behind the curtain and everything like that, tryng to smile and conversession ultralow, drinking quot tea thats' like schnapps only wurse and green. And we jones and Dr. Wo comes back finally at last out smiling subservantly with all the wonderful skeet three bundles in a newspaper who could f.u.c.king read it but the pictures are of slope VIPs' in suits and Wo sits down, and Wo never sits down at the booth with the skeet it isnt' done in his comerce, and Wos' hands are folded over our skeet in the thing and Wo smiling says he asks C if weve' seen goodold Poor Tony or Susan T. Cheese around we crew with Poor Tony in boosting life did we not he said. C he says PT is a f.u.c.king d.i.c.ksucking f.a.g queer and a proven cheeseater and wed' f.u.c.ked up his map and Cheese and Lolasisters' map in a beef and didnt' crew with f.a.gs since aprox the autum period. C is pouring mucis and tryng to smile cusually, Dr. Wo laughed in a harty fashion and said exellent and Wo leaned over our skeet sayng if we should happenbychance to see Poor Tony or them to please give Poor Tony his quite best regards and wish him prosparity and a thousand blisses. blisses. And everything like that. And we promote the newspaper of skeet and Wo promotes our $ and very politely outwego and I admit it yrstruly wanted we should burn Poor Tony and rickytick the f.u.c.k out of Chinatown but we go over down more by the China Pearl Place and Poor Tony is sortof hunched behind a lightpoal with his gray teeth chatting in his dress and thin coat tryng to be low profile in his red coat and heels around a million+ slopes that all are subservants of Wo. And later after s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g out we didnt' tell him of what Wo said about sitting down and asking about him and Cheeses' And everything like that. And we promote the newspaper of skeet and Wo promotes our $ and very politely outwego and I admit it yrstruly wanted we should burn Poor Tony and rickytick the f.u.c.k out of Chinatown but we go over down more by the China Pearl Place and Poor Tony is sortof hunched behind a lightpoal with his gray teeth chatting in his dress and thin coat tryng to be low profile in his red coat and heels around a million+ slopes that all are subservants of Wo. And later after s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g out we didnt' tell him of what Wo said about sitting down and asking about him and Cheeses' blisses blisses and we screw to the Orangeline to our hot air blowergrate we use at nite at the library behind the Copley Squar and we get our personnel works out from behind the brickworks behind the bush by the hot blowergrate where we stash our works and were' eggerly into the first bundle and were' cooking up and notice Poor Tony doesnt' the least b.i.t.c.h when yrstruly and C tie off first in line seeing as were' the ones that copped it and Poor Tonys' gotto wait as usal, except I notice he doesnt' b.i.t.c.h even a little, normally Poor Tony keeps up this usal wine yrstruly learned how to not notice, but when he doesnt' wine now that were' jonesing and the skeets' right there I notice hes' cusually looking like every place but at the skeet which is unusal and C jonesing and with the Shivers cooking up tryng to keep his lighter lit in the hot airs' wind and snow of nite, and I admit it yrstruly I get a wicked cold inside feeling even with all this hot air from the blowergrate blowing up from under us and making our hair blow around and Tonys' feather snake pernt upword I yrstruly get a cold feeling of super station once more, you get wicked super stations in this f.u.c.ked up kindof s.h.i.t life because its' a never ending chase and you get too tired to go by much more than never ending habit and super station and everything like that so but I dont' say any thing but yrstruly I have a cold super station about Poor Tony not wining while he makes like he has to cusually p.i.s.s and takes a p.i.s.s and the p.i.s.s steams up around the lower ares of the bush with his back turned away and isnt' looking around with interst or anything like that you never turn your back on the skeet when its' partly your skeet which is wicked unusal which C is so eggerly dopesick he doesnt' notice any thing past keeping the lighter lit. And so I admit it I yrstrul