THE
CIRCUIT
RIDERS
On the Board,
they were just little
lights that glowed.
But out there
in the night of the
city-jungle,
they represented
human passions—
virulent emotions—
and deadly crimes-to-be ...
by R. C. FitzPatrick
Illustrated by Schoenherr
■ He was an old man and very drunk. Very drunk or very sick. It was the middle of the day and the day was hot, but the old man had on a suit, and a sweater under the suit. He stopped walking and stood still, swaying gently on widespread legs, and tried to focus his eyes. He lived here ... around here ... somewhere around here. He continued on, stumbling up the street.
He finally made it home. He lived on the second floor and he dragged himself up the narrow staircase with both hands clutching the railing. But he was still very careful of the paper bag under his arm. The bag was full of beer.
Once in the room, he managed to take off his coat before he sank down on the bed. He just sat there, vacant and lost and empty, and drank his beer.