sweet in my nostrils as the smell of oil to an
oil man or the smell of bullshit to a cattle
baron. I sure did a sweet thing with those
pipes and I’m covered too. What I got on the
Governor wouldn’t look good on the front
page, would it now? And I have my special
police to deal with vandalism and sabotage,
all of them handsome youths, languid and vi-
cious as reptiles, described in the press as no
more than minions, lackeys, and bodyguards
to His Majesty the Sultan of Sewers.
The thoughts of youth are long long
thoughts. Then I met the gubernatorial can-
didate, and he looked at me as if trying to fo-
cus my image through a telescope and said
“Anything I do for you I’ll depreciate.” And I
felt the dream slipping away from me, reced-
ing into the past dim jerky far away—the dis-
creet gold letters on a glass door: William S.
Burroughs, Commissioner of Sanitation.
Somehow I had not intersected. I was not
one of them. Perhaps I was simply the wrong