SUDDENLY, I WAS ANGRY with myself and rebelled against everything that was my life. I knew the streets and I knew what there was to know about the pain and filth and agony of the mean streets, and I could talk pig Latin as fluently as English - and beyond that was a world that didn't exist for me, barring the hills of Greene County, where I worked as a waiter and then as a camp counselor during most summers. Barney had a job, only thirty dollars a week, but that was a fortune and luck in the early thirties, and Julie was in school and Jerry had his two jobs and college, and I had to get out of there or burst. I talked it over with a friend, a young guy I had met during summer work, who also had ambitions as a writer, and we agreed to take off for the South and see what we could find. I'm not sure we knew what we were looking for, but it was something different from New York in the early thirties, and maybe all it amounted to was a need to get away.