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@@@@@it's a passion for movement, it's to trick
@@@@@it's a passion for movement, it's to trick us into staying at home and being exploited
They're gonna move us out, men
I'm movin' anyway, Red says
Somehow it seems as if you never do go under, there is always the providential handout, or the pair of shoes you can buy after the ones you own flap in the windSomehow, there is always a little job, or some meal to keep you going, or there's a new town to go to, there is even the good feeling once every month or two when you catch a freight at dawn, and the land rises out of the night and you're not too hungry
If you throw a handful of straw into a river, some of it stays afloat even in a rapids, there is always something to give you a boostYou keep going and the summer ends, the nights get chill (half a buck in your pocket and winter acoming) but there's always a railroad track heading south, there is usually a jail where they'll let you sleep the night
And if you get through it there's Relief after a while, and even a couple of jobsDishwasher, short-order cook, a shingler, a farm hand, a house painter, a plumber, even a gasoline pump
In 'thirty-five he works in a restaurant for almost a year, the best dishwasher they ever had(The rush hour lasts from twelve to three at that end of the kitchenThe dishes come clanking down the dumbwaiter, and the tray man mops the food and grease with his hand, fingers the lipstick on the glasses to loosen it, and drops them in a rackIn the machine, the steam vibrates and sings, whips out at the other end, where the finish man pulls out the tray with tongs, and wiggles the plates with his fingertips as he flips them on a pileYou don't grab it with your bare hand, Jack
After work Red goes back to his furnished room (two-fifty a week, the carpeting on the stairs has thickened with age and springs underfoot like soft dusty turf) and lies down on his bedIf he's not too pooped, he gets up after a while, and drifts down to the bar around the corner(The gray cracked asphalt, the garbage cans spilling over in the areaways, the stippled light of the neon sign, two letters are missing
A man always has philosophyI'll tell ya, Red, I used to think for a time I made a mistake gettin' marriedI used to get mad, you know, I'd start wondering what am I workin' for, but, aah, you get over itYou take those two kids over there feeling each other in that boothRight now one of them can't even breathe without the other -- my old lady used to be like that with meI don't get mad, I know what the score is, those kids are gonna end up like you, like me, like everybody
(The beer is flat and tastes like pennies Me, Red says, I never horse around much with the wo |