Clem trips a spastic cripple and takes his crutches.. . .He does a hideous parody twitching and drooling. . . .
Riot noises in the distance—a thousand hysterical Pomeranians.
Shop shutters slam like guillotines. Drinks and trays hang in the air as the patrons are whisked inside by the suction of panic.
Chorus of F ags: “We’ll all be raped. I know it, I know it.” They rush into a drugstore and buy a case of KY.
Party Leader (holding up his hand dramatically):“The voice of the People.”
Pearson the Money Changeling comes acropping the short grass seized by the extortionate commandant of Karma, hiding in a vacant lot with the garter snakes, to be sniffed out by the scrutable dog.. . .
The Market is empty except for an old drunkard of indeterminate nationality passed out with his head in a pissoir. The rioters erupt into the Market yiping and screaming “Death to the French” and tear the drunkard to pieces.
Salvador Hassan (squirming at a keyhole): “Just look at those expressions, the whole beautiful protoplasmic being all exactly a lik e ” He dances the Liquefactionist Jig.
Whimpering queen falls to the floor in an orgasm.Oh God it’s too exciting. Like a million hot throbbing cocks.”
Benway: “Like to run a blood test on those boys.”
A portentously inconspicuous man, grey beard and grey face and shabby brown jellaba, sings in