SAILOR

by Harry Otis

I have grown too used

To stand on deck, leaning against railings, To see behind

The harbour grow small and insignificant

And then turn and look ahead:

Nothing but the empty sky

Curving to meet the bare sea.

Now and then, in between the weighing of anchor

And enjoying boys at ports,

Memory creaks like the taut rigging on a stormy night.

But it passes soon,

And even as the prow heaves thru the raging water

I am filled again with a strange steadying content: Content of a wanderer never to return home.

INTERVIEW with a HUSTLER

by Nathaniel Copley

I am a male hustler. My week begins Monday evening. I have spent the entire day in bed, arising only to prepare a hasty snack in midand late after-

noon.

Sunday night had been strenuous, but I am young-one must be, in this game-and sixteen hours' rest had renewed me in body and spirit. I, sometimes, ask myself if there is another career which demands so much of its practitioners, and brings so little real reward.

I am a lone wolf. Not since my first weeks in the big city, when I was glad to exchange courtesies for a bed, have I associated with fellow-hustlers. My desire has been, from the first, to acquire a clientele of repeats, which would furnish sufficient income for me to live alone. My standards are not high, yet

25