His face was scarlet when he leaned to crank the car. “Oh I’m too damn young.”
The motor sputtered, started with a roar. He jumped round and cut off the gas with a long hand. “We’ll probably get arrested; my muffler’s loose and liable to drop off.”
At Thirtyfourth Street they passed a girl riding slowly
through the traffic on a white horse; chestnut hair hung down in even faky waves over the horse’s chalky rump and over the giltedged saddlecloth where in green letters pointed with crimson read Danderine.
“Rings on her fingers,” chanted Stan pressing his buzzer, “And bells on her toes, And she shall cure dandruff wherever it grows.”
II. Longlegged Jack of the Isthmus
Noon on Union Square. Selling out. Must vacate. WE HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. Kneeling on the dusty asphalt little boys shine shoes lowshoes tans buttonshoes oxfords. The sun shines like a dandelion on the toe of each new-shined shoe. Right this way buddy, mister miss maam at the back of the store our new line of fancy tweeds highest value lowest price ... Gents, misses, ladies, cutrate ... WE HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. Must vacate.
Noon sunlight spirals dimly into the chopsuey joint. Muted music spirals Hindustan. He eats fooyong, she eats chowmein. They dance with their mouths full, slim blue jumper squeezed to black slick suit, peroxide curls against black slick hair.
Down Fourteenth Street, Glory Glory comes the Army, striding lasses, Glory Glory four abreast, the rotund shining, navy blue, Salvation Army band.