I have again given him a franc and I have given
Garibaldi a franc. We had a drink a moment ago on me. The tavern is just
opposite the gare, where there will soon be a train. I will get upon the
soonness of the train and ride into the now of Paris. No, I must change
at a station called Briouse did you say, Good-bye, _mes amis, et bonne
chance!_ They disappear, pulling and pushing a cart _les deux balayeurs
... de mes couilles ..._ by Jove what a tin noise is coming, see the
wooden engineer, he makes a funny gesture utterly composed (composed
silently and entirely) of _merde_. _Merde!_ _Merde._ A wee tiny absurd
whistle coming from nowhere, from outside of me. Two men opposite. Jolt.
A few houses, a fence, a wall, a bit of _neige_ float foolishly by and
through a window. These gentlemen in my compartment do not seem to know
that La Misere exists. They are talking politics. Thinking that I don't
understand. By Jesus, that's a good one. "Pardon me, gentlemen, but does
one change at the next station for Paris?" Surprised. I thought so. "Yes,
Monsieur, the next station." By Hell I surprised somebody....
Who are a million, a trillion, a nonillion young men? All are standing. I
am standing. We are wedged in and on and over and under each other.
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