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58 His Secret Foe: Gravity I have a friend who falls off of bar stools. He’ll do it every time. Just watch and boom He’s down.The tall chairs at old Astor Lounge, Downtown, become teetering pedestals; In noon light or after-hours back room, If there’s some dignity left to scrounge, He blows it.With a thud he’s floored. The fat vinyl discs crossed with tape strips In the smoking neon dark of Bellevue And the greasy sheen of Holland Bar next door Are Olympic platforms for his choice tricks. One second he’s there, then he’s gone from view. The next day, with puzzling bruises that smart, He recalls none of this gratifying art. ...

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