"I'll watch you. I'm a working man. I must be able to tell between the news that's fit and the news that's not fit. . . . God I dont want to start talking about that. It's all so criminally silly. . . . I'll say that this cocktail sure does knock you for a loop."
"You neednt think you're going to do anything else but drink this afternoon. There's somebody I want to introduce you to."
"And I was going to sit down righteously and write an article."
"What's that?"
"Oh a dodaddle called Confessions of a Cub Reporter."
"Look is this Thursday?"
"Yare."
"Then I know where she'll be."
"I'm going to light out of it all," said Jimmy somberly, "and go to Mexico and make my fortune. . . . I'm losing all the best part of my life rotting in New York."
"How'll you make your fortune?"
"Oil, gold, highway robbery, anything so long as it's not newspaper work."
"Baa baa black sheep baa baa."
"You quit baaing at me."
"Let's get the hell out of here and take Dingo to have her muffler fastened."
Jimmy stood waiting in the door of the reeking garage. The dusty afternoon sunlight squirmed in bright worms of heat on his face and hands. Brownstone, redbrick, asphalt flickering with red and green letters of signs, with bits of paper in the gutter rotated in a slow haze about him. Two carwashers talking behind him:
"Yep I was making good money until I went after that lousy broad."
"I'll say she's a goodlooker, Charley. I should worry. . . . Dont make no difference after the first week."
Stan came up behind him and ran him along the street by the shoulders. "Car wont be fixed until five o'clock. Let's
