wearing soiled gloves and grimey coats that stink of maddog and night-train, on a cold october night, we can see our firey breath. we’re 12 scruffy long-beards huddled round a barrel in the alley behind the oddfellows hall on pearl st. 4 of us used to have crew cuts and still have tattoos of eagles, globes, and anchors on our arms. 5 of us need psychotropics and counseling — but don’t have anyone to prescribe them. a newspaper blows our... Read more