21

on, seems incredible. Until one realizes that 7ke
Street is so utterly disgusting to any but the perverts
who inhabit it that even lowly bums prefer hanging
around other neighborhoods. Panhandlers and New

York’s army of derelict alcoholics are seldom to be

found there. In their own words, ‘“that ain’t out
territory. It belongs to the queers.”

I’'d been led through 7he Street by Bill, a young
man who had tried to pick me up the first night I
went there to make this study. I wanted just such a
guide and lost no time in inviting him around the
corner to a drink. He was a few years older than
most of the punks. His trousers were not as tight
because there were the unmistakable signs of a
paunch settling into his stomach. I put my cards on
the table and told him I would pay for his help. He
was delighted at the suggestion, “Geez, that’s a
break. I had two tricks today. I don’t think I could
handle another. But I need the money.”

“What’s the matter? You hooked?” I asked. I
didn’t want a junkie on my hands. Too much trou-
ble. “Hell, no. That stuff never got me. I had plenty
of chances though. But, hell, I figured I had enough
troubles as it was.” '
~ “What’s the trouble now?”

“It’s plain as the nose on your face. Too much