One
Ooow-ow-ooow-owow! Oh, look at me, I'm dying. There's a snowstorm
moaning a requiem for me in this doorway and I'm howling with it. I'm
finished. Some bastard in a dirty white cap - the cook in the office canteen
at the National Economic Council - spilled some boiling water and scalded my
left side. Filthy swine - and a proletarian, too. Christ, it hurts! That
boiling water scalded me right through to the bone. I can howl and howl, but
what's the use?
What harm was I doing him, anyway? I'm not robbing the National
Economic Council's food supply if I go foraging in their dustbins, am I?