5.

Later Marty was standing on the corner of Colfax and Logan panhandling timidly among the bustle. The evening rush hour was still going and the buses and cars clogged East Colfax. The cars seemed angry in their hurry, as if the mannerisms of the vehicles--their jolts forward and fast turns--betrayed an end-of-the-day impatience in those behind the wheel.

Marty briefly fantasized about going to jack off in the Kitty’s East porn booth, but he didn’t have much money and knew he’d regret the waste if he did. There were private booths where you could pick out fifteen minutes of the flick you wanted to see for just a few dollars, but Marty had a shame about walking through that door; and just about everyone in this neighborhood knew his name and face. Whenever he did it he felt shame about it--not about what he was doing but the fact that so many people knew what he was doing.

There was a young Mexican American sitting at the bus bench that stood nearby, and a hooker-looking young lady sitting next to him, wide thighs, black spandex pulled over them. “See that guy,” she was saying to the Mexican American--“see him? In that blue car?” “What about him?” “See him?” “I see him.” “He was looking at you?” “Was he?” “He was fucking looking at you?” “Well he’s not looking now.”

Tough guy, thought Marty. Who gives a shit if someone looks at you? Only tough guys. He’d heard the saying somewhere, “All the tough guys are in prison or dead.” It made him smile presently.

He avoided looking at the Mexican American and his hooker-like girl.

Aw fuck, he thought, he’d been asking people for change for an hour and had just two quarters to show for it. No one gives to beggars at rush hour.

He sighed and began walking toward the Denver Library. He thought he might find Alex there, and maybe Alex got serious cash for that ashtray after all. What the fuck did Marty know about antiques? He still remembered the company that made it: Aurora Silver Plate Manufacturing. He thought he’d look it up himself, just out of curiosity.

He recalled that the Denver Art Museum was having a free visitors’ day tomorrow. Maybe it would get his mind of 10,000 PSI to wander around and look at it. They had a Picasso there. But it was just some square of gray on a dark backdrop with a little triangle of green to the side. Of course they couldn’t afford anything but the shittiest Picassos.

It struck him suddenly as a brilliant idea to hitchhike to Central America. But now he considered it and had no notion of why that idea was brilliant at all. They got malaria and shit there, he thought, malaria and fucking bot flies. That’s some fucked up shit, bot flies.