More about Libya

Many years ago in Chicago, a man that I knew and heartily disliked, married to a beautiful actress and dancer, abandoned his bed in the middle of the night, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, put on his clothes, and left his apartment for the purpose of making a ‘citizen’s arrest’. Exactly why he regarded that nuthouse behaviour as meaningful is something that I never found out, nor was I interested in finding out, nor was I interested in where he went to carry out this sacred mission, although I knew where he did not go. He did not go to the neighbourhood where the first sergeant of G Company in my infantry regiment was raised, and where Sergeant P. had learned to treat men like animals. That neighbourhood was often called Dodge City. Nor did he accost the young lads in front of the Four-Thirty Club, a few blocks from where I lived, nor did he make his way to Drexel Square, because if he had that might have been the last that anyone saw of him.