"We friends, yes?" The shoe shine boy put on his hustling smile
and looked into the Sailor's dead, cold, undersea eyes, eyes without a
trace of warmth or lust or hate or any feeling the boy had experienced
in himself or seen in another, at once cold and intense, impersonal and
predatory.
The Sailor leaned forward and put a finger on the boy's inner arm
at the elbow. He spoke in his dead junky whisper. "With veins like that,
Kid, I'd have myself a time!"
-- William Burroughs
