(Peter Orlovsky and Jack Kerouac wearing wet shorts…) Great city sounds muted yet distinct as jazz blows from just down a shadowy hallway brown, neon flicks off and neon flicks on reflects underwater in seedy little apartment, stale sheets rumpled rhinoceros hide Renaissance angel's fallen drape there naked man sprawls brawny legs wide in a reefer-hazed stupor of bebop eyelids heavy only not shut since he triangulates along his godlike torso to the valley of the shadow of pub