standing there in his rooms at 10 a.m. was back from two months skin diving in Corsica and off  the junk. . .

“Here to show off his new body.” Lee decided with a shudder of morning junk sickness. He knew that he was seeing-ah yes Miguel thank you- three months back sitting in the Metropole nodded out over a stale yellow eclair that would poison a cat two hours later,decided that the  effort involved in seeing Miguel at all 10 A.M. was enough without a intolerable chore of correcting an error (“what is this a fucking farm?”) which would also entail current picture of Miguel in much used areas like some great, inconvenient beast of an object on top in the suitcase.”You look marvelous”Lee said ,wiping away the more obvious signs of distate with a sloppy, casual napkin, seeing the grey ooze of junk in Miguel’s face,
studying patterns of shabbiness as if man and clothes
had moved for years through back alleys of time with
never a space station to tidy up. . . .
“Besides by the time I could correct the error . . .
Lazarus go home. . . . Pay The Man and go home. . . .
What I want to see your old borrow ed.meat for ”
“Well it’s great to see you off. . . .Do yourself a favor.” Miguel was swimming around the room spearing fish with his hand:
“When you’re down there you never think about horse.”
“You’re better off like this,” said Lee, dreamily caressing a needle scar on the back of Miguel’s hand, following the whorls and patterns of smooth purple flesh in
a slow twisting movement. . . .
Miguel scratched the back of his hand. . . . He looked