Newspaper room after newspaper room

   shut their doors behind "the kooks". 

  Because inside picas and metres and maps and screens and degrees of ink had to be synchronized with radio and TV images. 

  It took many moons to show secretaries the who, what, where, and why of as many American situations as there were Americans.  

  After that I had to retire from that service, a hansome man in a cottony casual shirt with no buttons was explaining to young men and women when he saw his.  He put the teeth bridge into the gap of his lower teeth.  A finger with sandy hair near his knuckles tapped his jaw, all steel.  A military cadet coming across the brick sidewalk barely glanced over at him.  The cadet tapped on his watch.

  The secretary sat with one nylon'd leg over the boot on the ground other leg on a concrete bench.  The man in the cottony shirt had waited to hear the hourly chimes when people were allowed to move around the cabin freely so to speak.  Then he crossed the quad while reaching under his shirt.  He was tackled in a heartbeat.  The secretary went away.