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That’s the story. That’s what she said again and again.Once to the hospital people and twice to the police. No address. No name. Nothing in his pockets. Ain’t it a shame.
The nose of that yellow Cadillac was pleated like an alligator’s, and except for a bloody lip and a bruised forehead, Louie’s cousin was okay. They put handcuffs on him and put him in the backseat of the cop car, and we all waved as they drove away.
Where do you live? she asked. There, I said pointing up to the third floor. You live there? There.
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