For a few days after Dopey's funeral we talked about how Dopey now was in a big hole in the ground till his bones grew rotten and how none of us was afraid of death or dying. I even described how I'd die and breathe my last. I did the whole bit, acting out every detail. It was swell acting. Getting yourself a chick was a rep builder.
Nobody really digs a kid.
That was the way I felt. And sometimes what I did, although it was real enough, was only a pale shadow of what I felt. I was burning, making all kinds of promises to send that rubber ball smashing into his teeth whenever he decided to let it go. Yeah, yeah, watch me. The ball finally left that hoarder's hand.