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stained glass?Father Sullivan tugged at his prick and tried to relax. He was back in darkest Brooklyn; the bar was called the Casablanca Inn. The men’s room was stifling, the radiator spit on his cast, and the beers he’d been drinking since ten in the morning knifed his bladder. Because he’d fractured his skull and his right ankle, he’d made a number of adjustments large and small: he mapped each excursion according to how many steps there’d be to climb; he continued to be puzzled by the peculiar sensations in his ankle, more like a plant pushing through the soil than human pain, and he was still not used to holding his prick in his left hand while supporting himself with the aluminum cane in the right.

Sullivan held his breath, swallowed the stench and swayed beneath the bulb that illuminated beads of plumbing sweat. He read the wall from bottom to top. Three woodknots were linked obscenely. The graffiti were pretty high-string:

Hey Europe, eat my Florida!

Sullivan, bracing his cane in a spot where the tiles had lifted away, was inspired to add:

As a final gesture of defiance
My uncle left his cock to science

—Tom McDonough, Virgin With Child (Viking, 1981)

This moment in Bay Ridge literature was brought to you by Caz Dolowicz, serving Kings County since 1923. He grew up in Irish Town, near Sands Street, which thoroughfare more than one Brooklyn ‘historian’ manque would prefer not to research.

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