We were standing in a row.  A little drunk man was inspecting us.

The little drunk man walked along the line and stopped at Clifton, who had not said anything.  “You picked the smallest one,” I said, and we all called him names.

The little drunk man stood there awhile.  He had no desire to fight and neither did we.  Five minutes later a thinner more jovial drunk man came outside and said that we’d better all go, the police were coming.

Later Clifton rolled up his pant-legs to walk in the fountain, looking as happy as I’ve seen him.

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