The Miracle Man

He was a misshapen thing, bulking a black blotch in the night at the entrance of the dark alleyway-like some lurking creature in its lair. He neither stood, nor kneeled, nor sat-no single word would describe his posture-he combined all three in a sort of repulsive, formless heap. The Flopper moved. He came out from the alleyway onto the pavement, into the lurid lights of the Bowery, flopping along...