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"you're my man." robin said. that was better than, "he goes, or i go." which is what julie said on christmas eve. bobby was detoxing at the loft… harmless. this is the truth. s. was challenged to choose between his brother and his girl. and he loved her. he really loved her more than anything in the world.

two heads crashed on the concrete simultaneously. it began twenty minutes ago, up in the loft. after persuasion failed, s. had to wrestle his brother to the elevator, open the door, pull the gate, force him in, and manage the controls, stopping and starting again and again and drag bobby down the hall to the final exterior door.

after the fall on the concrete, s. maneuvered his brother to the sidewalk and locked the door. it was hard and grotesque.
when they went home to the sixth street pad, on the ground floor, there was bobby sleeping in their bed. he had broken in through the window.

still in the same mode of obedience to his 'wife', s. called the police…. christmas eve was never more ruined.

"may we know the wonder of
small and simple things
this christmas time
and in our humble reverie
grow gentle and good." drury

s. had no suspicion how temporary this situation was, speeding from soho to the eastside, from east to west village, was a blur. twice a week he even fit in on his evenings off from the "figaro", three hours at the art students league on 57th st. here he learned that to teach art all you had to do was: if your student did a rendition too loose you seriously accosted him and said "try to tighten it up a little." and if he was too tight, you say, "loosen up." that's teaching.

of course s. applied for a grant at cooper union, just down the block, between work and home. cooper union was the best equipped art school in the city. but s. was never good with inteviews. also, the system, was as mechanical as a the gates of the dam.

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