Word: sidewalkers
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WALKING down a headquarters hall or a ghetto sidewalk, his gait halfway between a lope and a swagger, Tom Reddin looks every inch the Compleat Policeman. If his huge hands, barrel chest and easy Irish smile do not betray his occupation, his glib, salty speech is unmistakably that of the lawman...
According to the police, Jones, who had been selling The Daily World, a new Marxist paper, in front of the Harvard Coop, was blocking the sidewalk with his bundle of papers. When he was asked to move them, police say the young man spit at the officer and then ran. Curtis caught Jones, and while struggling with him, Bunting appeared and provoked arrest...
...Clock High, All About Eve), for 17 years a Maine resident, who decided to take a crack at what he called "raising a little hell in Congress." Running as a G.O.P. peace candidate in Maine's First Congressional District, Merrill, 52, attacked pollution and poverty, tried everything from sidewalk electioneering in a rocking chair to reading poetry before local Rotary Clubs. Maine's citizens, however, preferred that he keep his hell raising at home. The result: Merrill lost to State Senator Horace Hildreth Jr., 36, son of a former Maine Governor who ran on a platform of drug...
BEYOND the Paris the world knows -resplendent Boulevards and leafy esplanades, elegant restaurants and sunny sidewalk cafes-lies a ring of small communities with names like Aubervilliers and St. Ouen, Boulogne-Billancourt and St. Denis. No soaring monuments to Western civilization grace their drab and grimy streets. Instead, the stigmata of the worst of the 20th century abound: the sprawl of brick factories, the grey, faceless slabs of low-income housing projects. All day big diesel trucks thunder up and down belching fumes, their oversize tires slapping the ancient cobblestones. This is the Red Belt of Paris, so called because...
...Jock who leans in the window, and leaves. A bottle shatters among a half dozen Beta people. A lot of Jocks immediately attack Carmen, running across the street and scaling a 16-foot gate. A bottle brushes through a tree I am standing under and smashes on the sidewalk three feet away. It is disintegrated, powdered into glass fragments no larger than pebbles. I calculate later that a bottle thrown from the tenth floor of Carmen's 15 floors is moving 60 miles an hour when it hits the street. We start a cautious retreat but stop when the Jocks...