Fan Man - T. C. Boyle
Tax included.
I am all alone in my pad, man, my piled-up-to-the-ceiling-with-junk pad. Piled with sheet music, with piles of garbage bags bursting with rubbish and encrusted frying pans piled on the floor, embedded with unnameable flecks of putrefied wretchedness in grease. My pad, man, my own little Lower East Side Horse Badorties pad...
And so it begins Badorties & narration of his down-at-the-heels drug-fueled befuddlement in New York City circa 1970.
