The Red Sun Was Pasted In The

The Man Had Arrived At That Stage Of Drunkenness Where Affection Is Felt For The Universe.

He Vaguely Desired To Walk Around And Around The Body And Stare; The Impulse Of The Living To Try To Read In Dead Eyes The Answer To The Question.

Such An Assemblage Of The Spraddle-legged Men Of The Middle Class, Whose Hands Were Bent And Shoulders Stooped From Delving And Constructing, Had Never Appeared To An Asbury Park Summer Crowd, And The Latter Was Vaguely Amused.

The Wayfarer, Perceiving The Pathway To Truth, Was Struck With Astonishment. It Was Thickly Grown With Weeds. "ha," He Said, "i See That None Has Passed Here In A Long Time." Later He Saw That Each Weed Was A Singular Knife. "well," He Mumbled At Last, "doubtless There Are Other Roads.

A Mysterious Fraternity Born Out Of Smoke And Danger Of Death.