I remember walking into the twilight heart of a Brooklyn barrio all alone like a lone and lonesome wolf seeking a feast of new wonders, and for truths from gambrel roofs, weathered brick walls, neon lights, and vagabonds and nighthawks. I had slipped on black ice and fell in a heap, laughed a good clean laugh, and I walked my Carefree and me to a hopeless bar at the corner where two hapless streets meet. I drank its fire water and danced with its mother matron--a starlet half-actress with a penchant for wry humor, rye whiskey, and old country songs. I wonder what happened to her, while I'm here stuck in the doldrums of now and ever.
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