I'd Tried To Straighten Him

I Tend To Show Everything I Do To My Family, To Check They Won't Be Offended.

Across Town, Over In The East Village, The Graffiti Was Calling For The Rich To Be Eaten, Imprisoned, Or Taxed Out Of Existence. Though It Sometimes Seemed Like A Nice Idea, I Hoped The Revolution Would Not Take Place During My Lifetime. I Didn't Want The Rich To Go Away Until I Could At Least Briefly Join Their Ranks.

Every Gathering Has Its Moment. As An Adult, I Distract Myself By Trying To Identify It, Dreading The Inevitable Downswing That Is Sure To Follow. The Guests Will Repeat Themselves One Too Many Times, Or You'll Run Out Of Dope Or Liquor And Realize That It Was All You Ever Had In Common.

Perhaps The Little Negro Girl Was Holding A Concealed Razor Blade. Maybe She Was One Of The Troublemakers Out For A Fresh White Scalp.

As I Searched The Atlas For Somewhere To Run To, Hugh Made A Case For His Old Stomping Grounds. His First Suggestion Was Beirut, Where He Went To Nursery School. His Family Left There In The Midsixties And Moved To The Congo. After That, It Was Ethiopia, And Then Somalia, All Fine Places In His Opinion. 'let's Save Africa And The Middle East For When I Decide To Quit Living,' I Said.