Wet, penetrating, chilling. On your knees, you scramble into the shelter of the cardboard tent at the dark end of the alley around the corner from Jones and O’Farrell. You hug yourself and listen intently. Nothing unusual about the night noises of the city around you, the foghorn out in San Franc...
But most folks, those on the street anyhow, just call me Smooth. Probably don't even know my official payroll name—'n the truth is I ain't made any payrolls for a long time, you unnerstand. Let's see, I guess it goes all the way back to when I first come to the Coast and started hustling. 'Bout a...