Word: heapings
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...there it is, against the library's back wall, between two racks of magazines: hundreds and hundreds of comic books thrown together in one enormous heap that is truly awesome. Batman and Superman are there, and so are a legion of other familiar super heroes: Spiderman, the Incredible Hulk Wonder Woman, The Fantastic Four, Iron Man, Captain America, and the Mighty Thor...
...impelled by some cosmic force, some of the comics penetrate the austere magazine ranks that flank the central heap. On the shelf labelled Atlantic Monthly sits "The Penguin Book of Comics" and Mickey Mouse waves from the cover of "Gli Anni Ruggenti di Topolino." The Christian Science Monitor shelf contains another volume of Topolino and a coffee-table book entitled "The Collected Works of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century." Then, before Commentary and Consumer Reports, come three shelves labelled "Comix," "Comix Continued" (this one has copies of The Economist), and "You Guessed It." On the first of these...
...owes $50 million plans and oversees several murders. Owners or managers of big businesses are almost always filthy rich, with gigantic houses, servants and limousines. There is some honor among small businessmen, but most come off as H.L. Mencken characterized farmers and politicians: candidates for society's dung heap. Concludes the study: "If American business has redeeming social values, they are not visible on prime-time television...
...forth among images of demolition and urban renewal: a billboard on a lone, dilapidated building proclaims. "Atlantic City, you're back on the map--again," while in a spectacular shot before the credits director Louis Malle shows us an aerial view of a massive stucco hotel collapsing into a heap of dust and rubble. Malle's Atlantic City is a patchwork of the old corruption and the new, numbers-runners and cocaine dealers, rickety frame houses and opulent casinos, aging beauty queens and female croupiers-in-training. There's always some new growth blistering out from the old scar tissue...
...exhibit, a large, fat man sat in a hallway just inside the entrance. Down the corridor stood a table of tools and junk. The guard laughed as I walked by him, ignoring the table, and then he waddled over, grabbed my hand and cheerfully led me back to the heap in the corner. I had missed the first piece of the exhibit...