He should have known better but he just liked the kid’s face.  He had that young grin, falling over himself to please.  Remembered that kind of feeling, at least when it was genuine to him.  A paper route.  Bicycles.  Baseball cards.  That’s the look the kid had. 

He hadn’t had anything sweet to eat in forever, and after a month of baked beans and tuna, a buck-fifty bar of chocolate was on the money.  Coming up from the subway, a snot-faced kid with a buzzing mumble: skewme suh, skewme suh, sport our team?

Stupid.  Stupid hunger and an earnest grin on a 10-year-old face.

It’s bootlegs and bars until 5 a.m., second-hand clothing and two-dollar beers. The railroad apartments, black and white bathroom tiles the size of oyster crackers, windows painted shut and radiators next to the pedestal sink. Sweating rent money, but having enough to buy a case of beer and some grass. A gigantic time.