word???” His eyebrows shot up and down with incredible speed. Carl could not be sure he had seen anything unusual. The doctor’s face opposite him was absolutely immobile and expressionless. Once again Carl experienced the floating sensation in his stomach and genitals of a sudden elevator stop.
“Yes, Carl, you seem to be running our little obstacle course with flying colors. . . I guess you think this is all pretty silly don’t you know. . .???”
“Well, to tell the truth. . . Yes. . .”
“You are frank, Carl. . . This is good. . . And now. . . Carl. . .” He dragged the name out caressingly like a sweet con dick about to offer you an Old Gold-(just like a cop to smoke Old Golds somehow) and go into his act. . .
The con dick does a little dance step.
“Why don’t you make The Man a proposition?” he jerks a head towards his glowering super-ego who is always referred to in the third person as “The Man ” or “The Lieutenant”.
“That’s the way the Lieutenant is you play fair with him and he’ll play fair with you. . . We’d like to go light on you. . .If you could help us in some way.” His words open out into a desolate waste of cafeterias and street corners and lunch rooms. Junkies look the other way munching pounding cake.
“The Fag is wrong.”
The Fag slumps in a hotel chair knocked out on goof balls with his tongue lolling out.
He gets up in a goof ball trance, hangs himself without altering his expressions or pulling his tongue in.
The dick is diddling on a pad.