it is a pity

that so many young writers drawn from the proletariat can make no better use of their working class experience than as material for introspective novels

she told me not to step on the cracks

I told her not to fuss and relax
pretty little face stopped me in my tracks
but now she sleeps with one eye open
that's the price you pay

the steer who had been gored

had gotten off his feet and stood against the stone wall. none of the bulls came near him, and he did not attempt to join the herd.