“Hungry-eyed fogies, gargoyles in full cry above the ruck and tumble of the street. They stare through shadows at a first-class loser, failed at selling shoes, flunked waiting tables, freaked out at knocking holes through cellar walls for slumlord hovels, scratched through flea-bitten nights in far-off places, fumbled over phrases for a shrinking ear. Open mouthed, they shrug me off, but I don`t care. An empty bag, I litter-dance in air.”