Night was coming to the Garden Juarez. The white glare of the day was gone, and the wind that blew in from the desert now did not blows dust and heat, but the smells of pepper trees and sage...

The streets are wet; Sparkling neon signs Glisten in pools of melted snow...

Our hole was a good hole as holes go. It wasn't always that way...

Joe Thomas spears at a chunk of boiled carrot on his plate. The carrot skids sideways, caroms off the slice of liver and bounces off the plate into his lap...

I saw them there The other night, These men Who live no more...