t in the whole
parade； and everybody is lining the streets and clapping and cheering and
waving； all for you。 Except for the winos passed out in the gutter。 Those guys
used to be your friends； but that's all behind you now。〃
He carried his empty fist to his mouth and sluiced down another — four down；
sixteen to go。 Making excellent progress。 He swayed a little on the stool。 Let
em stare； if that was how they got off。 Take a picture； folks； it'll last
longer。
〃Then you start to see things； Lloydy…my…boy。 Things you missed from the
gutter。 Like how the floor of the Wagon is nothing but straight pine boards； so
fresh they're still bleeding sap； and if you took your shoes off you'd be sure
to get a splinter。 Like how the only furniture in the Wagon is these long
benches with high backs and no cushions to sit on； and in fact they are nothing
but pews with a songbook every five feet or so。 Like how all the people sitting
in the pews on the Wagon are these flatchested el birdos in long dresses with a
little lace around the collar and their hair pulled back into buns until it's so
tight you can almost hear it screaming。 And every face is flat and pale and
shiny； and they're all singing ‘Shall we gather at the riiiiver； the beautiful；
the beautiful； the riiiiiver；' and up front there's this reekin bitch with blond
hair playing the organ and tellin em to sing louder； sing louder。 And somebody
slams a songbook into your hands and says； ‘Sing it out； brother。 If you expect
to stay on this Wagon； you got to sing morning； noon； and night。 Especially at
night。' And that's when you realize what the Wagon really is； Lloyd。 It's a