Page 139
By Jack Joseph Smith
His eyes looked back across the buildings, low
standing, not yet torn down. It was his first
fear in this city. He had never worried before;
"there would always be another bag!"
It was topped rolled solid like a stick in his
hand.
He thought of
accidental birth.
"The Prankster will be underneath the Boat House,"
"it will be a laughing dark morning."
Underneath the beginning of a remodeled structure,
beneath the beams, between the poles, the Prankster
had organized a temporary home. He was happy to get
off Hart street. The young girls and electric music
had been giving him the dismissed blues.
Now though,
His work was directly above him.
This Prankster was in a
good place.