guard for a moment. "This is it," he said, then directed his
focus and his index finger at the guard. "You . . . fuckhead,
let me out of here! Do you know who I am? I ain't no criminal!
I pay my taxes!" The guard listened patiently while Joe slowly ran out of steam
and had to stop to catch his breath. "Ayuh, I know who you ah," he said, rising slowly out of his
chair. You're Abe Smith's little boy, or ya used ta be,
anyway." He pulled a hard pack of Winston's out of his shirt
pocket and pulled one out with his teeth. "Ayuh," he continued,
the cigarette dancing on his lips as he spoke, "I suppose ole Abe's 'bout rollin' over in his grave right 'bout now, just a'wonderin' where he went wrong." He lit his cigarette, took a long drag off of it, then coughed into his right hand while he
shoved the cigarette pack back into his shirt with the other.
When he sucked in again, Joe could see the ring of wrinkles
around his lips.