Chapter 14 13

------------------ 13 A fool is going to part with his fifty-three cents sooner or later, and at this moment I feel more relaxed and excited than I have ever felt before.I was right.Money is not only useless but always causes trouble.It's better to be poor than to live a life of smacking and instigating.A little bit is far more dangerous than nothing.The degree of wealth at each stage of my life is directly related to my bank balance, which can be expressed by the following quadratic equation: S=C1B2C2B Here B is the value of bank deposits expressed in US dollars: C1 and C2 represent constants; S is the degree of wealth, and its unit of measurement is I. U． F． (save degrees SI).

Man, give him a little wealth and he becomes insatiable; rob him of all hope and he becomes generous-gives all his possessions, fifty-three cents.Who needs that, I ask you?Money is shit.I jumped up and down.There was no doubt about it, I felt so much lighter, almost floating in the air.Also a little erratic.Is it the effect of wine?Or did he know that after losing that little fortune, losing a week's cabkin, losing Bernie's pro rata advance, would go back to Vivica?Money is shit.I will say it again. Light rain and snow with gray ice particles fell again.It dawned on me that I had been walking up and down this street for half an hour, talking to myself, trying to get out of my current predicament.What's the next step?I knew I should go uptown and hitch a ride back to Goublesville, but it was getting late and it wasn't easy to hitchhike in the dark; besides, I didn't dare face Vivica.Not because she would berate me.It's the fucking Scandinavian indifferent silence of hers that's killing me.I knew that I should have listened to my mother and married a Semitic woman. Not only would she be chattering, but she would also know how to get rid of my troubles and calm my mood.

The sleet turned into sleet.People started to pick up the pace.The men and women hurrying along the wet and slippery sidewalks have their own agendas.Businessmen in tunics strode forward, briefcases swinging with the swing of their arms; office girls in fur-trimmed coats and super high heels thump-thump-thump-thump forward Rush, leaving behind a hot perfume smell of sex and sin, Woolworths and car exhaust.Purpose.Ah, how I love that word.I would list it with happiness and success on my vocabulary list.They are all goals worth striving for.You know, this is another thing that can be successful!Target.

I jotted down these marvelous people with lightning speed, etched them forever in my bewildered brain, and made them part of my marvelous unfinished canon.money?Money is shit, let me tell you.poison. poison?The memory of the past hit me like a sharp arrow.I suddenly remembered that when I was a child, I often saw my father wearing a bow tie and a suit with baggy trousers, walking hurriedly on this street.Dad was full of purpose and hurried to win the order. His majestic appearance balanced the extreme distress in his heart.Fear.What are you afraid of?Afraid of money, what else are you afraid of?Daddy, he's so worried that in his sleep he's looking for orders too--poor man, he's wasting his life, poison's running through his veins, poor old man whipping himself 'til his veins are hard as stone, Blood was bubbling from the roof of the brain.

But things are different and history cannot repeat itself.As Jawski said: "The first time is tragedy, the second time is farce." If I let this farce go on forever, I am not human! money.Stinky shit.It just can't get out of my head.If I hadn't given the old beggar the fifty-three cents, at least it would have been enough to take me uptown by car, or to make a few phone calls.Lo and behold, that hapless poison again.But you have to look on the bright side of things, Mr. Nu, you self-talking fool, things are not that bad.At least in terms of purpose and purpose.It's cheap for you.money.It makes hungry people all over the world scramble for its poison, to swallow it like an elixir of life, and to savor with relish the pleasures to come.Even in rustic little Goobsville, people are racking their brains to get it - Arthur Holt, who gave up his Ph. Here comes the Japanese hi-fi stuff.Who can make a fortune by studying music scores?And Niery, my young African friend, a lunatic with dreams of getting rich, reinvesting in zipper production, or working on laser electronic mouse traps. "All you have to do," he said, his eyes light up, "is do whatever they want." True.Got to the point.very true!You are a genius.But what do people want?A little strychnine, you say, let it run through the veins, make them as hard as granite, eyeballs pop out of their sockets, and blood come out of the roof of the brain like a fountain of water from the nostrils on the top of a whale's head.Yes, they planned and manipulated in the back room.Take the Beversons, for example. Both of them have good salaries, but they still don't think the poison is enough and want to add more, so they sell "personalized sexual fantasies" through pornographic books-just send your name, your partner's $3 for your name and pure arsenic, remember, no stamps required, and no checks.Other things are handled by us, thank you.

The rain stopped.hell.What should I do next?All I need is a little money, enough to poison me back to Goobsville, a little green cyanide to tide me over until I sign the incapacity check - maybe I should Going back to Bernie, flattering him with all my might, telling him how I was too tired for a ride home, how I would have sold my soul for a ride home or a warm bed.No!I would rather die.never!do i need moneyAre you kidding me? There are few cars and people on the street.Men are back in their nests, busy sending out letters, memorandums, telegrams, contracts, statements, bills, and checks; and what will come to them will be a sudden rush of happiness and success, attainment of purpose, and at last attainment of purpose.So who can I count on to sympathize with me?Maybe I should go to the beggar and ask her to borrow enough money for my subway ride.Then, she can refuse to admit that I gave her money.Who else can I ask for help?Reach out your helping hand, your hand that I have not had time to gnaw and break, I will lick and kiss it with ecstasy.Perhaps somewhere in this rapacious city there is just a kind and rich old woman who will donate to the arts--an amiable rich widow who has too much money to know what to do with and needs a Purpose.Oh, a woman like that I'd like to write about as an angel.But women like this tend to have a certain eccentricity.She may like to see naked men.Then I'll dance naked on her dresser, with a dick, doing the splits, holding up my scribbles and talking nasty things - if it's going to please the old ladies.Whatever—wait a minute!Dirty talk.Yes.There is indeed another man in this city who I can call.Leo.Of course it is him!Why didn't I think of him earlier?It seems like my mind only comes alive when I'm in a stressful situation.Speaking of the most usable person, Leo is none other than Leo.I met him through the rough times at Brooklyn Tech School.He was a studious guy who dropped out, leaving me to struggle on my own.But he did spend the first two semesters in the Electrical Engineering department for my sake - Leo would often keep me from going to bed until two o'clock in the morning when Leo was struggling with his studies, and he would tutor him on the phone in the middle of the night Electromagnetism, not to mention all the physics lab reports I wrote over the course of a year, because my irresponsible lab partner Leo was too busy enjoying life to be like us who don't know how to enjoy and only know how to work. Just like spending a minute in a basement with thin air.I have to admire Leo.Although he was not smart in mathematics, he was extremely smart in changing his major, and he changed his major very early—changing his English major.But I suffered like a fool for another seven years before waking up like a dream.Oddly enough, after all these years we both end up in the same dismal circle of pennies - although Leo is much better off than I am in terms of life (assuming he hasn't been fired ), a dedicated writing teacher who toiled day and night for would-be illiterate Brooklynites, who taught them how to be the successful writers he once wanted to be, and who yawned and opened their mouths Inject stimulants.

My heart burns with hope, and my brain starts to think positively again.All those calculations and lab reports should be worth a lot.I borrowed a little money from him last spring, but there should be at least some left over from the loan—let’s put it this way, if you take a rough figure, there is always 20 yuan.Hey, Leo is so preoccupied with his stomach and genital problems that he probably forgot all about the small sum I borrowed.I forgot anyway.In any case, there is a moral obligation for those on regular income to share in the hardships of those in need.If the strategy doesn't work--and I don't see why it doesn't--I'll scare him and tell him things tend to go the other way, and it's probably time to talk about him being unemployed and starving next year, Then it's time for him to come to me for a little poison.I will never forget old friends.

Why am I thinking so much?This is nothing more than a trifle.Don't beg.Don't beg.When I called, I would say that I happened to be near his house.Just do it.