He said something to me as he passed, moving fast in his wheel chair. He said, "What color is that line?" The color of that line is drunk. The color of that line is white, yellow, brown, and black. That line is Friday, man. That line is dope and crippled and there's pussy everywhere. The color of that line is mess. Ever seen so many saggy trousers? Ever seen so many broken pairs of glasses? That line is long too. That line is out the door, onto the sidewalk, and those people are out of this world — guys sitting on chains, waiting for the exit, cash in hand. What's next, man? That line is dizzy, curry, jive and java. That line is girls, trimmed in fur and young. Give me three on Friday. Give me the smell of Chinese, the bright lights and don't trip man, because it's Friday and that line is Friday.