<p class="MsoNormal">(Still working out the formatting and whatnot. Sorry for the unreadability.)<br></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br></p><p class="MsoNormal">He cut a monstrous figure, all lopsided and contemptuous;
silhouette thrown into sharp focus on sun-bright lights. He looked like an
angel; he looked like a devil. The drugs hadn’t kicked in yet, but the effect
was so insanely psychedelic on its own that I felt like jumping into the stream
of everything and swimming. People around us curved and swirled, but he alone
remained in the center of my vision, drawing all things to himself. He was so
beautiful. <br></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br>“I ain’t a prophet,” he complained. “Ain’t a goddamn miracle man. I
ain’t never believed in myself that much.” He stood casually, but the energy
flowed around him on mystic waves. “I ain’t out for no cause. I’m just a man of
the people. Man, voice, conscience. Blood-stained heart, beating through the
night. Yeah, I ain’t no prophet, man. Just tryin’ to make it, like everybody
else.” <br></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br></p><p class="MsoNormal">I understood him. I understood him probably better than anybody else.
That’s why it hit so damn hard. The crazy little man; what did he think he
knew? I sprawled my arms out on the cushions of the chair. My left hand lazily
groped toward the cigarette in my mouth. I took a drag before removing it, the
smoke<br>moving and shifting in the body heat, in the close air.</p><br><p class="MsoNormal">"You know what,”
I said. “<i>Fuck</i> you, man.” </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br></p><p class="MsoNormal">He looked at me, dazed and bleary-eyed, a being
much possessed, and a soft smile came to his face as the air of tension slowly
dissipated.</p>
