"Why?"

The black chick couldn't think of any acceptable reason, so she sat down. Something about having to be home on time.

"How you doin'?" Billy asked.

"I don't know," she said.

"Why not?" he asked, touching her hair.

"I feel weird." We all laughed at that.

"Your're supposed to."

"Wow -- I don't know."

"Nobody does." He smiled at me. "Right?"

"Right."

"Are you thirsty?" asked Blondie.

"Yeah, yeah!" said the black chick.

"I want something sweet," Billy said.

I laughed. "Classic, man."

Nothing was done. Billy started making it with the black chick. I watched him. Marty yawned and ran through the records.

Honey I was ridin on my way downtown

I had the feelin you were putting me down

Someone, he's gonna kill you and it's gonna be me.

Billy said, "Did you dig that? That's right. That's what always happens, man." His eyes were swollen and red. "Someone is gonna kill me, and it's gonna be me." The dead pulse of the blues rolled in and out of the room, but Billy boy was already coming back from six hours of nothing into the world where people fight, choose up sides, care, act inexplicably. When you love the world you hate, and must punish yourself for it, there's always the smack train, gets you there in no time, no space, nothing.