Tennis, etcetera. He’d probably gone to one of those snob schools where they played rugby. Daddy had bought Junior a car for his twenty-first. Not this model though: a GTI cost over fifteen grand. Junior must have gotten a job. Maybe he’d gotten the girl free with the car. How was it that rich people never looked ugly? He’d smelled perfume hanging in the air when he’d walked by the car the first time. He held up his watch and twisted it until he got enough light on it to read it. Five minutes to closing time in the pubs. He’d have to go soon or else forget it. Then he might have to do something stupid in broad daylight tomorrow to get back on track. Otherwise, it’d be shitsville. That had happened last week. He’d messed up by sleeping it out until nearly dinner-time. It had taken him until four o’clock to round up enough money to score. That was a day to forget: out there on the footpath boiling in the frigging sun all day, ready to grab people and throttle them until they dropped money in his hat. It wasn’t like he was begging, for Christ’s sake. He was an artist. It was art they’d be supporting. Jesus, people paid thousands for some painting to hang on a bloody wall.

He couldn’t stop his mind wandering. He. imagined a huge drawing of Jim Morrison, a crowd half a dozen thick swarming around him, all oohing and aahing. Purples, yellows-the spotlights, maybe even some lyrics on the top. Put in Jimi Hendrix floating there somewhere too. Bob Marley. A black angel. That was the stuff to get tourists coughing up dough. You never know who’d be walking by on the streets during the summer. Dublin had a name for talent in the music scene. Some big exec from a record company might spot it: hey, we gotta have this guy doing our covers! Or something with a message on it? Save the whales. Just say no. Ah, there were too many iijits out pretending to be real chalkies now. He really should try looking for a steady. If he had a steady number for a job, he could plan. Join a fitness club or something. Get some exercise. Then he could handle it cold turkey. Not that he actually had a habit or needed to worry. It’d be no sweat when the time came. All it took…