High mountain flutes, jazz and bebop,
one-stringed Mongol instruments, gypsy xy-
lophones, African drums, Arab bagpipes . . .
The City is visited by epidemics of viol-
ence, and the untended dead are eaten by
vultures in the streets. Albinos blink in the
sun. Boys sit in trees, languidly masturbate.
People eaten by unknown diseases watch the
passerby with evil, knowing eyes.
In the City Market is the Meet Café. Fol-
lowers of obsolete, unthinkable trades, dood-
ling in Etruscan, addicts of drugs not yet syn-
thesized, pushers of souped-up Harmaline,
junk reduced to pure habit offering precari-
ous vegetable serenity, liquids to induce La-
tah, Tithonian longevity serums, black mar-
keteers of World War III, excisors of tele-
pathic sensitivity, osteopaths of the spirit, in-
vestigators of infractions denounced by
bland paranoid chess players, servers of frag-
mentary warrants taken down in hebephren-