a blue woman with sticking out breasts hanging clothes. On the line. not so old for the mother of twelve undershirts(we are told by is it Bishop Taylor who needs hanging
that marriage is a sure cure for masturbation).
A dirty wind,twitches the,clothes which are clean —this is twilight, a little puppy hopping between skipping children (It is the consummation of day,the hour)she says to me you big fool she says i says to her i says Sally i says the
softly,in the hot alley,
a nigger’s voice feels curiously cool (suddenly-Lights go!on,by schedule