y surfaces to disintegrate。
'Was he actually watching the Koreans play chess or pretending？' Joe asked。
'He was watching this place and talking to the cream pies。'
'Cream pies？'
'Couple of stone…gorgeous bitches in thong bikinis。 Man； you should see the redhead bitch in the green thong。 On a scale of one to ten； she's a twelve。 Bring you all the way to attention； man。'
'He was ing on to them？'
'Don't know what he thinks he's doing；' said the kid。 'Loser like him； neither of those bitches will give him a shot。'
'Don't call them bitches；' Joe said。
What？'
'They're women。'
In the kid's angry eyes； something flickered like visions of switchblades。 'Hey； who the hell are you…the Pope？'
The acidic yellow air seemed to thicken； and Joe imagined that he could feel it eating away his skin。
The swirling sound of flushing toilets inspired a spiralling sensation in his stomach。 He struggled to repress sudden nausea。
To the boy； he said； 'Describe the women。'
With more challenge in his stare than ever； the kid said； 'Totally stacked。 Especially the redhead。 But the brunette is just about as nice。 I'd crawl on broken glass to get a whack at her； even if she is deaf。'
'Deaf？'
'Must be deaf or something；' said the boy。 'She was putting a hearing aid kind of thing in her ear； taking it out and putting it in like she couldn't get it to fit right。 Real sweet…looking bitch。'
Even though he was six inches taller and forty pounds heavier than the boy； Joe wanted to seize the kid by the throat and choke him。 Choke him until he promised never to use that word again without thinking。 Until he understood how hateful it was and how it soiled him when he used it as casually as a conjunction。
Joe was frightened by the barely throttled violence of his reaction： teeth clenched； arteries throbbing in neck and temples； field of vision abruptly constricted by a blood…dark pressure at the periphery。 His nausea grew worse； and he took a deep breath； another； calming himself。
Evidently； the boy saw something in Joe's eyes that gave him pause。 He became less confrontational； turning his gaze once more to the shouting gamblers。 'Give me the twenty。 I earned it。'
Joe didn't relinquish the bill。 'Where's your dad？'
'Say what？'
'Where's your mother？'
'What's it to you？'
'Where are they？'
'They got their own lives。'
Joe's anger sagged into despair。 'What's your name； kid？'
'What do you need to know for？ You think I'm a baby； can't e to the beach alone？ Screw you； I go where I want。'
'You go where you want； but you don't have anywhere to be。'
The kid made eye contact again。 In his bruised stare was a glimpse of hurt and loneliness so deep Joe was shocked that anyone should have descended to it by the tender age of fourteen。 'Anywhere to be？ What's that supposed to mean？'
Joe sensed that they had made a connection； that a door had opened unexpectedly for him and for this troubled boy； and that both of their futures could be changed for the better if he could just understand where they might be able to go after they crossed that threshold。 But his own life was as hollow…his store of philosophy as empty…as any abandoned shell washed up on the nearby shore。 He had no belief to share； no wisdom to impart； no hope to offer； insufficient substance to sustain himself let alone another。
He was one of the lost； and the lost cannot lead。
The moment passed； and the kid plucked the twenty…dollar bill out of Joe's hand。 His expression was more of a sneer than a smile when he mockingly repeated Joe's words； 〃They're women。〃 Backing away； he said； 'You get them hot； they're all just bitches。'
'And are we all just dogs？' Joe asked； but the kid slipped out of the lavatory before he could hear the question。
Although Joe had washed his hands twice； he felt dirty。
He turned to the sinks again； but he could not easily reach them。 Six men were now gathered immediately around the cockroach； and a few others were hanging back； watching。
The crowded lavatory was sweltering； Joe was streaming sweat； and the yellow air burned in his nostrils； corroded his lungs with each inhalation； stung his eyes。 It was condensing on the mirrors； blurring the reflections of the agitated men until they seemed not to be creatures of flesh and blood but tortured spirits glimpsed through an abattoir window； wet with sulphurous steam； in the deepest kingdom of the damned。 The fevered gamblers shouted at the roach； shaking fistfuls of dollars at it。 Their voices blended into a single shrill ululation； seemingly senseless； a mad gibbering that rose in intensity and pitch until it sounded； to Joe； like a crystal…shattering squeal； piercing to the centre of his brain and setting off dangerous vibrations in the core of him。
He pushed between two of the men and stamped on the crippled cockroach； killing it。
In the instant of stunned silence that followed his intrusion； Joe turned away from the men； shaking； shaking； the shattering sound still tremulant in his memory； still vibrating in his bones。 He headed toward the exit； eager to get out of there before he exploded。
As one； the gamblers broke the paralytic grip of their surprise。 They shouted angrily； as righteous in their outrage as churchgoers might be outraged at a filthy and drunken denizen of the streets who staggered into their service to sag against the chancel rail and vomit on the sanctuary floor。
One of the men； with a face as sun red as a slab of greasy ham； heat…cracked lips peeled back from snuff…stained teeth； seized Joe by one arm and spun him around。 'What the shit you think you're doing； pal？'
'Let go of me。'
'I was winning money here； pal。'
The stranger's hand was damp on Joe's arm； dirty fingernails blunt but digging in to secure the slippery grip。
'Let go。'
'I was winning money here；' the guy repeated。 His mouth twisted into such a wrathful grimace that his chapped lips split； and threads of blood unravelled from the cracks。
Grabbing the angry gambler by the wrist； Joe bent one of the dirty fingers back to break the bastard's grip。 Even as the guy's eyes widened with surprise and alarm； even as he started to cry out in pain； Joe wrenched his arm up behind his back； twisted him around； and ran him forward； giving him the bum's rush； face first into the closed door of a toilet stall。
Joe had thought his strange rage had been vented earlier； as he had talked to the teenage boy； leaving only despair； but here it was again； disproportionate to the offence that seemed to have caused it； as hot and explosive as ever。 He wasn't sure why he was doing this； why these men's callousness mattered to him； but before he quite realized the enormity of his overreaction； he battered the door with the guy's face； battered it again； and then a third time。
The rage didn't dissipate； but with the blood…dark pressure constricting his field of vision； filled with a primitive frenzy that leaped through him like a thousand monkeys skirling through a jungle of trees and vines； Joe was nevertheless able to recognize that he was out of control。 He let go of the gambler； and the man fell to the floor； in front of the toilet stall。
Shuddering with anger and with fear of his anger； Joe moved backward until the sinks prevented him from going any farther。
The other men in the lavatory had eased away from him。 All were silent。
On the floor； the gambler lay on his back in scattered one and five…dollar bills； his winnings。 His chin was bearded with blood from his cracked lips。 He pressed one hand to the left side of his face； which had taken the impact with the door。 'It was just a cockroach； Christ's sake； just a lousy cockroach。'
Joe tried to say that he was sorry。 He couldn't speak。
'You almost broke my nose。 You could've broke my nose。 For a cockroach？ Broke my nose for a cockroach？'
Sorry not for what he had done to this man； who had no doubt done worse to others； but sorry for himself； sorry for the miserable walking wreckage that he had bee and for the dishonour that his inexcusable behaviour brought to the memory of his w