ABSTRACT
Sun rose out of the East River and spread over Battery Park. The light rays tapped on the eyelids of Clarence Dale and he stirred, tearing the damp sheets of newspaper he had spread under him the night before. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, scratched his head and sat up. Always towards the end of summer, with election drawing near, the cops were instructed to let the bums sleep in the waterfront parks unmolested. This was in exchange for the only thing some of them still owned—a vote. As Clarence looked around the bay, the sun lit up the buildings grown together like teeth in the mouth curve of the waterfront. He was stirred by this sight and yet he couldn’t help asking himself whether this superb view would yield one doughnut and a cup of coffee.
