Michael Malone - Weebly

ells ringing salvation. He was high with a thousand
lingos.
All around him cantatas of multitudinous accents
and argots, tympanic, flat, sharp, glottal, nasal, dental,
twang, slang, jive, and jargon. Chatter and woo and
barter and curses in Bronxese, Blackese, Chinese, and
all the Babelites that worked to build the mighty tower
and called one another honkie, wasp, wop, spic, mick,
kraut, polack, kike, and jig. All their voices amplified
him. All the people dashing at him when the light flashed
go. Fat, lean, gay, straight, crooked, hebephrenic, hale
and hearty, melancholic, sober, drugged, yellow black
brown red and white, all zippy in the dynamo of the
giant power generator they call Manhattan. And he felt
alive here.
He did not say this in so many words, of course, for
love is a sparing translator of differences. He said,
"Darlin', New York's got everything! You want grass,
you got it. Trees? A fucking forest! A forest with seals
in it!"
With a wave he hailed a pumpkin-yellow coach for
his lady. The first cab that Richard called came at his