By William S. Burroughs
Burroughs' first novel, a principally autobiographical account of the consistent cycle of drug dependency, remedies and relapses, is still the main unflinching, unsentimental account of habit ever written. via junk neighbourhoods in ny, New Orleans and Mexico urban, via time spent kicking, time spent dealing and time rolling drunks for funds, via junk ailment and a clinic, "Junky" is a box document (by a author educated in anthropology at Harvard) from the yankee post-war drug underground. A cult vintage, it has encouraged generations of writers with its uncooked, sparse and unapologetic tone. This definitive version painstakingly recreates the author's unique textual content be aware for notice.
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Not yet. ' "We've got monochrome security videotape of a light coloured minivan entering the garage eleven minutes before the event. Can't see the plates for mud and dirt, and the camera angle isn't great. But it's probably a Dodge Caravan, not new, with aftermarket tinted windows. ' 'OK, obtained,' Emerson said. ' Rodin nodded. ' Emerson nodded in turn. 'Right where the new construction starts. Therefore the cone would have looked plausible. We have a witness who saw it in place at least an hour before.
Ready. Infiltration successful. Now wait until the time is right. He waited about seven minutes, keeping still, breathing low, clearing his mind. He looked at the library on his left. Above it and behind it a spur of the raised highway curled in on stilts, like it was embracing the big old limestone building, cradling it, protecting it from harm. Then it straightened a little and passed behind the black glass tower. It was about level with the fourth storey back there. The tower itself had the NBC peacock on a monolith near its main entrance, but the man with the rifle was sure that a small network affiliate didn't occupy the whole building.
He slid the papers across his desk to Rodin. Rodin picked them up and scanned them through, once, twice, carefully. Emerson watched his eyes. Saw him thinking the guy, the gun, the crime. It was like watching a Vegas slot machine line up three cherries. Bing bing bing! A total certainty. 'James Barr,' Rodin said, like he was savouring the sound of the words. He separated out the DL picture and gazed at it. ' 'Amen to that,' Emerson said, waiting for a compliment. I'll get the warrants,' Rodin said.