Properties
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- 2026-01-30T03:41:20.747Z
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- text
- 25
When I got outside, it was just getting light out. It was pretty cold, too, but it felt
good because I was sweating so much.
I didn't know where the hell to go. I didn't want to go to another hotel and spend
all Phoebe's dough. So finally all I did was I walked over to Lexington and took the
subway down to Grand Central. My bags were there and all, and I figured I'd sleep in that
crazy waiting room where all the benches are. So that's what I did. It wasn't too bad for a
while because there weren't many people around and I could stick my feet up. But I don't
feel much like discussing it. It wasn't too nice. Don't ever try it. I mean it. It'll depress
you.
I only slept till around nine o'clock because a million people started coming in the
waiting room and I had to take my feet down. I can't sleep so hot if I have to keep my feet
on the floor. So I sat up. I still had that headache. It was even worse. And I think I was
more depressed than I ever was in my whole life.
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I didn't want to, but I started thinking about old Mr. Antolini and I wondered what
he'd tell Mrs. Antolini when she saw I hadn't slept there or anything. That part didn't
worry me too much, though, because I knew Mr. Antolini was very smart and that he
could make up something to tell her. He could tell her I'd gone home or something. That
part didn't worry me much. But what did worry me was the part about how I'd woke up
and found him patting me on the head and all. I mean I wondered if just maybe I was
wrong about thinking be was making a flitty pass at ne. I wondered if maybe he just liked
to pat guys on the head when they're asleep. I mean how can you tell about that stuff for
sure? You can't. I even started wondering if maybe I should've got my bags and gone
back to his house, the way I'd said I would. I mean I started thinking that even if he was a
flit he certainly'd been very nice to me. I thought how he hadn't minded it when I'd called
him up so late, and how he'd told me to come right over if I felt like it. And how he went
to all that trouble giving me that advice about finding out the size of your mind and all,
and how he was the only guy that'd even gone near that boy James Castle I told you about
when he was dead. I thought about all that stuff. And the more I thought about it, the
more depressed I got. I mean I started thinking maybe I should've gone back to his house.
Maybe he was only patting my head just for the hell of it. The more I thought about it,
though, the more depressed and screwed up about it I got. What made it even worse, my
eyes were sore as hell. They felt sore and burny from not getting too much sleep. Besides
that, I was getting sort of a cold, and I didn't even have a goddam handkerchief with me. I
had some in my suitcase, but I didn't feel like taking it out of that strong box and opening
it up right in public and all.
There was this magazine that somebody'd left on the bench next to me, so I
started reading it, thinking it'd make me stop thinking about Mr. Antolini and a million
other things for at least a little while. But this damn article I started reading made me feel
almost worse. It was all about hormones. It described how you should look, your face and
eyes and all, if your hormones were in good shape, and I didn't look that way at all. I
looked exactly like the guy in the article with lousy hormones. So I started getting
worried about my hormones. Then I read this other article about how you can tell if you
have cancer or not. It said if you had any sores in your mouth that didn't heal pretty
quickly, it was a sign that you probably had cancer. I'd had this sore on the inside of my
lip for about two weeks. So figured I was getting cancer. That magazine was some little
cheerer upper. I finally quit reading it and went outside for a walk. I figured I'd be dead in
a couple of months because I had cancer. I really did. I was even positive I would be. It
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