Explore "Nexus" by Henry Miller on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Often when I stepped out for a breath of fresh air I would drop in on Sid Essen to have a chat with him. Only once did I see a customer enter the place. Winter or summer it was dark inside and cool – just the right temperature for preserving stiffs. The two show windows were crammed with shirts faded by the sun and covered with fly specks.
He was usually in the rear of the store, reading under a dim electric bulb suspended from the ceiling by a long cord from which dangled sheets of tanglefoot fly-paper. He had made himself a comfortable seat by mounting a car seat on two packing boxes. Beside the boxes was a spittoon which he made use of when he chewed his baccy. Usually it was a filthy pipe he had between his teeth, sometimes an Owl cigar. The big heavy cap he removed only when he went to bed. His coat collar was always white with dandruff and when he blew his nose, which he did frequently – like an elephant trumpeting – he made use of a blue bandanna kerchief a yard wide.