The next morning, I stepped over used syringes on my way to the bus station. There, the driver made us wait nearly half an hour in the cold, even though the bus was right there, with its door wide open. He treated us like losers, and we didn't dare to upset him. Had we stirred, the bossman might deny us our only chance out of ruination, if only towards another dire strait. Like Jim, I'm missing several teeth, actually, for this is Uncle Ben's America. Eight million a day for Israel. Are you with me? Words, words, words. I'll get them for us.
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