The clock struck once, like a mugger with a blackjack. The night was clear and cold, and the stars stared me down with their vast indifference. The ember of a cigarette danced and was flicked into the waters half a block away by an unknown hand. Maybe a cop. Maybe a nobody. Maybe the rower on the shores of death. I shivered and put my hands back into my pockets and felt the insane giggle of a drycleaning stub left there for two years to cry itself to sleep.

There was a sudden rush of wings over my head—bird, or bat, or some other thing loving the dark. I smiled to myself that same secret smile the warden has when he pulls the big switch—afraid, but excited too, trembling with fear and anticipation at the same time. I bit my tongue until I could taste the blood. Whoa! Steady there, big fella. Easy, boy. I patted my hidden pocket where the knife kept warm and hungry. Don’t cry no more, honey. You’ll get fed tonight. Daddy’s going to let you taste something hot and red and sticky. We’re going to feast tonight, because that’s the kind of sugar Papa likes.

I stopped cold, realizing I had been thinking aloud. A woman was going by with the strangest look on her face, like she was a broom and I was a spider on the ceiling. I took off my hat to show her there wasn’t a bomb inside, and I smiled real big so my gold tooth would blind her in case I had to move fast. She had a mean, pinched face, like one of those zoo monkeys I feed the cracker balls to. Don’t look at me like that . . . don’t make me do it . . . don’t—but it was all right. I didn’t get the feeling.

I needed a few laughs. I slipped down a steaming manhole and breathed deep. I like the sewers. You can lick the moss from the stones and bite the heads off a couple of rats, and everything seems okay again for a while. Down there nobody wants your vote; no one wants to shine your shoes. Something soft and furry tore at my kneecaps like a high-speed drill. I chuckled as I held it under the foam until it stopped gurgling. There. I wish that was you, Charlie Dicer. Goodtime Charlie. Happy Charlie. You windy son of a bitch. You shifty-eyed bastard. You scum-sucking peon. I’d like to make you eat my boot right now, Charlie. I think I’ll do that. Sure, why not? I don’t have to drive the school bus today.

I wiped a hand across my face and came up the subway steps splashing water, my shoes making a soft squishing sound like the sound when you step on a face. I counted the cracks in the sidewalk. Every tenth one I got down on my knees and sang glory hallelujah. Every hundredth one I broke a window. And every other step I licked my lips and cursed Charlie’s immortal soul. I walked up the gray steps and knocked on the door that was a different gray, like a doorway into a giant brain.

Well hello there. Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. Well how the hell are you. That’s fine, that’s real fine. Come on in. You look great, dressed fit to kill. Mabel, look who’s come back. Well come in old buddy.

I smiled real big and stepped inside.