He began to take the stairs at a run, but his breath came too hard, and he walked the rest of the way to the turnstile. The arm caught tight as he started to go through and a sharp pain want through his groin.
"That's the way you go in, pal," somebody offered, and the man winced at the few laughs he had drawn. He saw the exit sign and walked quickly toward it.
The night lights were just ahead as he collided with a woman loaded with bundles. They spilled. "Sorry," he said, leaving her to her indignation, and at a faster pace he walked outside into the cool night air.
He had stopped walking and was leaning against the door of the Inn of Six Horses, which proudly displayed its name and namesakes in blue and white neon.
He had recognized nothing.
He had tried getting to the doctor's by cab, but no driver would listen to him without first seeing the fare, even though he assured them all that he could get it from the doctor.
A policeman had told him to move along or suffer the consequences of a thick nightstick.
A drugstore proprietor had answered his request to use the phone by threatening to call the policeman with the thick nightstick.
A dime. One dime!