Consider this world as a big, ugly place - something
to toy with but never displace. Sit with your combat
boots and your tattooed face, and let's talk for a
moment about this. You can have another tumbler
of Scotch - if you wish. And, go ahead, light up
that cigarette, I won't really mind. We can watch
this Newark treadmill behind as we sit - all those
black people darting and diving. This Spanish
portico we're sitting in won't let the bad things
happen. Here's the lark you've been missing -
another joke, another riddle, something.
They've parked two police cars nearby, and look
how the sun is glinting off that enormous gold
dome of the old City Hall. Such crime and
concoction work well together. Even Ras
Baraka can't change that. Did I tell you I
knew his father? LeRoi was a short man,
but powerful as much. Changed his whole
titular-name thing to Amiri a long time ago.
Never thought the kid would be Mayor.
Now the motorcycle cop comes racing in -
or anyway it always looks like that. Motorcycle
cops - not real fond of that idea. It's a contradiction
in terms. I always thought the outlaws had the bikes.