Nobody tell Petey about Fan Death.
Geronimo stopped singing and told Profane how it was. Did he remember the baby alligators? Last year, or maybe the year before, kids all over Nueva York bought these little alligators for pets. Macy’s was selling them for fifty cents, every child, it seemed, had to have one. But soon the children grew bored with them. Some set them loose in the streets, but most flushed them down the toilets. And these had grown and reproduced, had fed off rats and sewage, so that now they moved big, blind, albino, all over the sewer system. Down there, God knew how many there were. Some had turned cannibal because in their neighborhood the rats had all been eaten, or had fled in terror.
Since the sewer scandal last year, the Department had got conscientious. They called for volunteers to go down with shotguns and get rid of the alligators. Not many had volunteered. Those who had quit soon. Angel and he, Geronimo said proudly, had been there three months longer than anybody.
Profane, all at once was sober. “Are they still looking for volunteers,” he said slowly. Angel started to sing. Profane rolled over glaring at Geronimo. “Hey?”
“Sure,” Geronimo said. “You ever use a shotgun before?”
Profane said yes. He never had, and never would, not at street level. But a shotgun under the street, under the Street, might be all right. He could kill himself but maybe it would be all right. He could try.
Do you mean Thomas Pynchonian legend? I hope Benny Profane comes to the rescue tomorrow!
“Lady, this is a meat market. Now, which of us is buying and which one is for sale?”
lower your standards
Could be worse. Could be fire ants.
Look at it: it’s not blue. It’s green.
still timely tho
Peaches is LIT!
Good enough for Rocky Balboa! And look how HE turned out.