Naked Lunch

I can feel the heat closing in , feel them out there making their moves , setting up their devil doll stool pigeons , crooning over my spoon and dropper I throw away at Washington Square Station , vault a turnstile and two flights down the iron stairs , catch an uptown      A train … Young , good looking , crew cut , Ivy League , advertising exec type fruit holds the door back for me . I am evidently his idea of character . You know the type comes on with bartenders and cab drivers , talking about right books and the Dodgers , call the counterman in Nedick’s by his first name . A real asshole . And right on time this narcotics dicks in a white trench coat ( imagine tailing somebody in a white trench coat – trying to pass as a fag i guess ) hit the platform . I can hear the way he would say it holding my outfit in his left hand , right hand on his piece ” I think you dropped something , fella . “