I am mad again, he thought. Tears brimmed. He swallowed in a
tightened throat. I don't want to be. I'm tired, I'm tired and
horny, I'm so tired I can't make sense out of any of it and my mind
won't work right half the time I try. I'm thirsty. My head's all
filled with kapok coffee wouldn't clear. Still, I wish I had some.
Where am I going, what am I doing, stumbling in this smoking
graveyard? It's not the pain; only that the pain keeps going
on.
He tried to let all his muscles go and stepped aimlessly from
sidewalk to gutter, his mouth dryer and dryer and dryer. Well, he
thought, if it hurts, it hurts. It's only pain. All right
(he looked at blurred house tops above the trolley wires), I've
chosen, I'm here.