When it comes to girls the Chihuahua on Ninth Street going down to Washington on the left side below the Hong Kong Fruit, he knows here he's going, between their beautiful legs, his eyes bulge a little, his heart, because he is small, surges, explodes too much, he is erotic, his red tongue is larger than a squirrel's, but not too much, nor does he walk on wire with fresh ricotta in his mouth nor an apple they sell for a quarter, a bit of rot on one side but sweet underneath the skin, more Macintosh than not, he loves Velveeta, he knows the prices of bananas, he whines when there is d**h; there was one drowning in a sewer, his owner gave me five dollars for lifting the lid with a hammer and going down into the muck when I was twelve, it was my first act of mercy and she gave me a towel that matched the Chihuahua's towel and ah he trembled containing s** knowledge and such affection and licked my face and forced me to shut my eyes, it was so much love, his whole body was shaking and I, I learned something once from a bird but I don't know his name and it is shameful, what was he, a dog? The Klan was flourishing all the while we dreamed of hydroelectric so we were caught in between one pole and another and we were Hegelian or just Manichean, we kept the hammer on top of the manhole so we could lift it to get our soft balls and tennis balls though he who weighed a pound could easily fall into the opening, such was our life and such were our lives the last few years before the war when there were flour flavors of ice cream and four flavors only; I'll call him Fatty; I'll call him Peter; Jésus, I'll call him, but only in Spanish, with the "h" sound, as it is in Mexico; Jésus, kiss me again, Jésus, you saved me, Jésus, I can't forget you; and what was her name who gave me the towel? and who was I? and what is love doing in a sewer, and how is disgrace blurred now, or buried?