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“Courts are quiet. Still, like a dead hooker.

“Chairs are where I left them. Colorful, like the bruises on a dead hooker.

“Also, there was dead hooker in playground. Had busboys throw in canal.

“The filth spreads, but not here. Junkies and whores. They dance. I sit. I wait. Streets are full of human chum, armed with sex-knives. They have rights. They have lawyers. I have a lacrosse stick with a sharpened end. I have pills for alertness. I have the busboys.

“You will not stand, so I will rise. You are weak, so I will be Phil.

“I own the night. And the bocce courts.”