So We stock up on H , buy a second hand Studebaker , and start West.

The Vigilante copped out as a schizo possession case : ” I was standing outside myself trying to stop those hangings with ghost fingers … I am a ghost wanting what every ghost wants-a body- after the Long Time moving trhough odorless alleys of space where no life is only the colorless no smell of death … Nobody can breathe and smell it through pink convulsions of gristle laced with crystal snot, time shit and black blood filters of flesh. ”    He stood  there in elongated court room shadow , his face torn like a broken film by lusts and hungers of larval orgasm stirring in the tentative ectoplasmic flesh of junk kick ( ten days on ice at time of the First Hearing) flesh that fades at the first silent touch of junk .      I saw it happen . Ten pounds lost in ten minutes standing with the syringe in one hand holding his pants up with the other , his abdicated flesh burning in a cold yellow halo , there in the New York hotel room. . . night table littter of candy boxes , cigarette butts cascading out of three ashtrays , mosaic of sleepless nights and sudden food needs of the kicking addict nursing his baby flesh . . . The Vigilante is prosecuted iin Federal Count under a lynch bill and winds up in a Federal Nut House specially deisgned for the cointaimnent of ghosts : precise , prosaic impact of objects … wahstand … door … toilet…bars…there they are … this is it … all lines cut … nothing beyond… Dead End …And the Dead End in every face…