Word: walke
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...week. In Paris, a wildcat strike of subway workers brought the underground Metro's 17 lines to a virtual standstill. When bus drivers joined in, as so often before, Paris became a city of pedestrians and monumental traffic jams. Post-office workers served notice that they intend to walk off their jobs next week...
Just when the reader, thinking he has had enough, starts to get up and walk out of this nightclub of the mind, Jacobs takes a breath and launches into another of his characteristic openings: "My name is Oliver August. I am friendly, a Moose. I try to believe in disarmament. I cook for a hobby. Every seven years my cells change. But each new cell sings of health and wellbeing. No matter how often I am replaced, I remain formidable. . . . Look into my eyes: rain puddles rich with life. My story should be told." Hypnotized by those glittering rain puddles...
...patients with gray hair ran the canteen. There was always a buzz of activity around the counter where coffee and cigarettes and doughnuts and candy were sold. It wasn't especially living activity, but it was activity just the same. Patients from other wards on the East Side would walk in, hobble in, drift in with a completely blank face or a frozen ear-to-ear smile, and look at the ladies behind the counter...
After dinner the thought of returning to O-2 wasn't especially savory so I decided to go for a walk. I wanted to see what the outside was like after what seemed like months in this other world so I walked across the grounds to Blue Hill Ave. and up to the Dunkin' Donuts shop. As I approached the place I grew very uncomfortable and nervous and scared. I guess I was nervous because I had choices: I could walk whichever way I wished, and with my two nickels at the doughnut place I had to decide what sort...
...that tasted like tea and the nurses standing sternly with crossed arms under the pillars and my fellow patients dressed in cheap cotton with a half a set of teeth each. And back in O-2 I began expectantly thinking about what it would be like to have lan walk onto the ward and say let's go and as easy as that leave this enormous machine that endlessly cranks out thick swatches of time like huge strings of taffy. It was absurd to be able to simply walk out. Some elaborate rite of passage seemed called...