S P I K E W A S W A I T I N G patiently for tL~ t，a，
a virtue he did not hold， in the abstract， in particularly high
regard--since lightning-quick decisions and instantaneous ac-
tions were the province of those he most admired--but five
years in the British Columbia Penitentiary had developed his
facility for waiting to an unfortunate degree， and although any-
one looking at him as he sat on the thin-slatted green wooden
bench would have thought that here was a man who was eager
to be gone--his taut， rather feral face was held forward of his
neck in a way that seemed to anticipate movement， and his
eyes stared fixedly at a distant point in space--in fact， he felt
as relaxed as he ever could. He wore a pair of khaki army-
surplus pants， a thin gray T-shirt with a canvas iacket buttoned
over it， a pair of black iungle boots laced all the way to the top，
and an earring in his left ear. Occasionally he would stick his~
left forefinger directly into that ear and leave it for a moment，
as if he were testing the temperature of the interior of his brain.
His right hand was occupied in holding his harmonica， which
he had set on the knee closest to his bench mate， where he
tapped it and turned it over， his thoughtful consideration of the
harmonica an attempt to conceal his surreptitious interest in
the man beside him.
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