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Only Envy Some kids scoop handfuls of exploding caps out of big denim pockets, hurl them down by ones and threes, ratatat; boys lean against a green wall eating pizza shiny with grease; my shadow over the face of a sleeping flatnosed drunk, my shadow over the snob boy drawing him badly, sex going on all over the place, the rankness of garbage and the bimbo of the world. Not jealousy, not lust. Only envy, which walks streets at their most crowded hours, stales and sours like milk in the brain, like virgins who stay virgin past health and all believing.  ...

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