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“Extra, extra, latest out, comely chorus girl kills married
banker. Read all about it. Rich hot spicy stuff. Extra, extra,
get a extra this one.” People pushing, elbowing, squeezing
through the changing crowd of life to buy the extra hot spicy
rich double life stuff. Two airplanes collide three thousand feet
up, one falls into the street the other on top of a skyscraper. No
one hurt, another modern miracle.
Two pretty blonde women get into a fight and have a regular
hair pulling contest before a big crowd of graded life’s rubber
necks. Said one, “You’ll go to hell for this, damn you, don’t you
know he’s married?” And the other said, “O, rats, to hell with
it, that’s nothing, I am married too.” Two cops rush up and
rush in and pinch the two blondes with a free auto ride, and soon
another extra is out, another triangle hair pulling contest. Little
Italy the boot black on the corner did a rushing business brush
ing unfortunate men clean, guilty and innocent, of blonde hairs.
In and out the crowd were giddy girls, freakish dudes, bums,
beggars, drunks, society women, bankers, merchants, junkmen
and icemen this hot day.
In the crowd was an old gray haired crippled woman bent
with age and in her misery, among good and evil the acts of life
mostly double sham. She had by her side a dirty white panting
dog that wandered in among the wandering crowd of life acts
of good and evil mostly sham.
A freakish dude youth with his pretty face blonde girl with
freckles, foggy blue eyes, an artificial form on flimsy loud rags
come walking along the street nearly down town where traffic
and human life was jamming and jagging fast and slowly along,
came to the changing crowd of life, stopped and worked their
way into it alongside the old woman and dirty white panting
dog. Stood there paying no attention to the singing, but rub
bered around and were talking foolish like two born illfated
fools of lost destiny. The dirty dog rubbed against his creased
white pants, he kicks and curses it, takes his silk handkerchief
wipes the dirt off then his mouth off, turns around and said to
freckles his giddy blonde gal, “Come on, that woman in there
singing is a little bit off and funny. She’s a nut.” His blondy
gal freckles with foggy blue eyes, an artificial form on flimsy
loud rags giggled loud and cruel then said, “That’s so, come on.”
Just then a drunken bum bumped into her and nearly bumped
her down and she said, “Away you old dopey stew or I’ll have
your crazy nibs pinched.”
The freakish stormy dude with his giddy gal was the son of
the old gray haired cripple woman bent with age aside the dirty
white panting dog and the giddy girl with the freakish stormy
dude was the daughter of the woman singing, her mother with