“A GIRL. Seventeen and soon to meet the man I fear has followed me to Loreburn. Fear it, yet fear even more that I have hidden too well for him to find me. March 23, 1917 I went out one night in search of junibeer, in search of anything. P.D. (the Second) told me that something called “callabogus” (pronounced like Galapagos), a mixture of spruce beer, rum and molasses, was being sold in the west end late at night. He gave me an address on Patrick Street, a street corner that I should not visit u...ntil after midnight. I walked westward on Water Street, tapping every lamp post with my cane, clearing my throat, coughing, letting bootleggers know that a customer was coming, hoping to be accosted, hoping for a voice from some dark doorway and then a quick transaction that would not involve me being raped or robbed or mistaken for a prostitute. Patrick Street was dark, the lamps long since extinguished. I heard no footsteps but my own, no one’s breathing but my own. I did not smoke, lest I disguise the telltale smell of someone else’s cigarette, but I smelled nothing.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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