Two hoodlums were piking up Woodward Avenue yesterday, when they encountered a boy acquaintance who asked where they were going.

Beauty, I suppose, opens the heart, extends the consciousness. It is a platitude, of course.

Yes, if the exhaust is to noisey they can slap a yellow canary on it, but the[n] who cares you got rid of it.

God splurted out his mouthful of Cinzano Bianco and bellowed uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face.