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"There's a mirage here Cornel; And it is spreading," he laughed while going on, we must fly Cornel; we are dutybound to keep our minds above the illusion." "There is no illusion Animal; just sit right down here an I'll buy ya! a drink." "Your a generous man, anyone can have a glass of rum and coke on a Friday afternoon." The young lean faced man that had fought with death forever; from behind the bar commented that jail jokes were the best, but Animals were pretty good. "For a wealthy fellow, they certainly have an Irish sound to them," came from the Cornel. "Haven't you guys figured out that Wall Street eats nothing but kosher corn beef for lunch." Animal's head was buzzing, and the talk was peaceful. He decided to drink untill midnight. Then he would take a walk. It was time to dream of the women he had lived with. It was time to reflect, but the beginning of night morning would not have him on the street; it was that sliver moon; and low tide would put him low by the sea. "Listen Colonel," said Animal. How can you think that there is not an illusion, when all the laughing outcasts still believe in the head monk?" "Look at the laughing outcast; you are a laughing out- cast arn't you Animal?" Laughter. "With Bread; right?"