The Artful Trade

I had a friend in my New York days, a street guy. He made his living recognizing innocence and harvesting it, which in most big cities is a cottage industry. Like all street guys he was hard and sharp. Always working the angles. But he had a terrible weakness. He was a real sucker for women. Divorced four times but always sure the next romance was going to be the real thing. That authentic 'take it to your grave' love. And so he was dragged over the coals regularly. The king of broken hearts. Whenever I was out with him we would end up half in the bag in some dingy closing time Brooklyn saloon. Those shot and beer joints made for Lonesome. You practically needed a lonely union card to get in past midnight. He was a bad drunk. So after another week of taking it in the teeth, like every bad drunk that has ever lived, he wanted to swing away at the world. He thought he could beat the unfairness out of it. Inevitably he'd end up in some after hours alley with some other ...