Krist, the following Monday was a drag, a big, fat drag. The closer it got to the time to get up, the more restless was his sleep. He tossed, trying to find a comfortable spot, but couldnt, and hung, imprisoned, in a gray and painful limbo between sleep and wakefulness. His body ached and burned with fever, yet his head, in reality, was cool. He tried hard, very hard, to believe he had the flu and should stay in bed all day, but sleep was impossible, and to lie in bed, awake, and relive the outing and the ride home with Linda over and over again was much too torturous, and so, five minutes after the alarm sounded he got out of bed and cooled himself off with a hot shower.

And the goddamn subway reeked like a sewer. All those goddamn animals jammed into the train like the ark . . . yeah, thats what they are, a bunch of stinking animals. Like a zoo on a hot day. Yeah, New York is a Summer Festival. The rotten bastards. I got their festival . . . with this kind of weather. Just lovely weather. So goddamn hot and humid it was like being in a shower, you sweat so much. And those assholes smell worse than animals. Never heard of soap and water and toothpaste. Jesus, what a stink. Ugly goddamn slobs. They smell like they rubbed their armpits with garlic and onions . . . and chewed on dirty underwear. Like that goddamn baboon over there. Looks real natural hanging from the strap. He/d probably love it if I threw a few peanuts atim. Jesus, I/d like to see the orangutan hes married to. Can just see them sitting around watching the boob tube, picking nits off each other and eating them. Shes probably as hairy as that dog over there. Krist, shes got a bigger mustache than Groucho Marx. Shit, shes got more hair growing out of that mole on her cheek than I have on my head. I/d hate like hell to see her legs. Hair probably hangs off in festoons. . . . Jesus, its hot in this rotten trap. The sweats rolling down my back like a river. Sweet Jesus, what a miserable way to live, starting off the day jammed in a train with a herd of stinking animals. . . . Shit, no animal smells this bad ... or looks this bad. A bunch of goddamn peasant. . . . Slobs! Krist, look at the uniforms theyre wearing. The goddamn chimps in the circus are dressed better than these cretins. Those coordinated sets from Kleins basement. A dollar ninety-eight for the whole damn thing, including a free radio as a bonus. Red slacks! Red jacket! Pink knit shirt and a red asshole polyester tie. Krist. They must be twins, one guy couldnt be so dumb. And the broads. Jesus, what outfits. Uglys really in this season. Ahhhhhh, screwem. All but . . . Shit, maybe I should move to the city and get away from these rotten subways. Or maybe to the suburbs where you have a higher class of slobs riding the trains. Shit! Who needs it. Screw the suburbs. And these assholes. These low-life cretins. Screwim. Where they eat.... Suburbs. Shit! Who needs it.... Who wants.. .