Hunger and Thirst Read Online Free PDF

the next cot, “You don’t mind if I lay her, do you?”
    “Golly, it’s all right with me Erick,” John Foley said in his sleep, hugging his rifle.
    He felt all right then. And he opened his mouth and she pulled the sheet off his body and everybody was laughing and whistling but he didn’t care. “Do you care?” he asked Leonora and she said, “I don’t care.”
    He kissed her neck and pulled the gown over her shoulders and pulled it down until it slid out and over the hills of her breasts and slipped off her rigid nipples and dropped whispering to her waist. He kissed her hot flesh.
    Everything sped and ran. She was lying under him and moaning Oh darling, oh darling, keep it up, keep it up but all of a sudden he had to stop. I’m sorry Leo honey he said I have to go to the No you don’t she said and she was angry and hot. But I have to Leo don’t you understand I’ll only be a minute. No! she said angrily or I’ll scream and wake up your mother. I have to Leo and he ran naked down the long splintery barracks aisle and jumped down the stairs to the latrine and stood leaning his head against the damp wall over the urinal and watching himself and John was next to him in the Central Park toilet and he said to John—Say, John is this the pause that refreshes or is this the pause that…
    He woke up with a shudder.
    His organ was erect again and urine was pouring out of it. He felt it running and splashing down his stomach and crotch, dribbling over his thighs. It was hot. He saw the enlarging spot of wetness in his pants, saw a tiny spurt of yellow fluid come out between the buttons on his pants. It soaked him.
    He didn’t care.
    He was smiling and his eyes closed again and he shivered and relished the feeling of hot urine pouring over him. He felt excited and happy, breathing in deeply through gritted teeth as the urine flooded over him endlessly, soaking down under him, blotted up by the bed clothes. He didn’t feel his bladder working. He just felt the hot wetness and it seemed as if someone were pouring it over his lower extremities.
    When it finally stopped he sighed in sleepy satisfaction, still half in the dream. I don’t care Leo, he either said or thought. I’ll do it again. I love it, it’s wonderful, I love it, I love it, I
love
it.
    The room began to drift and melt away. Blackness, warm and comforting dropped over him and shut his eyes with gentle fingers. He slept, his long body warm and moist and comfortable. Slept without dreams.
    Like in a warm place, very nice. A warm, wet, dark place.

6
    It was almost nine.
    People hurried to work. They jumped down from bus steps. They came from the earth, a disgorged flow of pumping legs and arms and bobbing heads. They came thumping down the steps from the elevated platform, a swelling line of them, hurrying to work under the grey blue April sky.
    The sun was up but not yet visible in the sky. It lay hidden behind a thin layer of grey. The sky was filled with an endless column of puffy continents drifting along slowly.
    No one in the street looked up at them.
    Everyone’s eyes looked down at the dirty sidewalk or straight ahead toward their destination; the office or the shop or the factory. Some of the people stopped for brief moments to gaze in brief coveting at the window displays. Some of them gazed dumbly and passed on, unsold. Others made mental notes to return when pay day came. Others simply looked with neither the intent to buy nor interest in the product, drawn in by a sign, a picture, a certain twist of display.
    The street was turgid with yellow-topped busses, bulky, thick-wheeled garbage trucks, their bodies a pale white, their tires black and spiked. And streams of private cars and taxicabs. The heavy rumble of their forward movement shook the house. It made the dirty walls tremble, sent tiny clouds of plaster dust into the air, formed motes of dust in the air. It stirred the bubbly water in the glass. It made the wilting rose jiggle in its