Little Murders
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:40:00
145-147 Broome Street.
:40:04
So tired, so broken in spirit...
:40:08
that when he climbed
the six flights of stairs each night...

:40:11
to the three-room, unheated flat...
:40:13
the five of us were crowded in...
171 Attorney Street...

:40:17
that he did not have
the strength to eat.

:40:20
The man did not have
the strength to eat!

:40:25
Turning thinner...
:40:27
and yellower by the day.
:40:29
For lack of what?
A well-balanced diet?

:40:33
Too much cholesterol?
:40:35
Too many carbohydrates
and starchy substances in his blood?

:40:39
Not on your sweet life.
:40:41
For lack of everything!
:40:43
What was God to my father?
I'll tell ya. Sit down. I'm not finished.

:40:47
I'll tell ya
what God was to my father.

:40:49
God got my father up those
six-and-a-half flights of stairs...

:40:52
not counting the stoop...
every night!

:40:55
God got my mother worn gray
from lying to her children...

:40:58
about a better tomorrow
she didn't believe in.

:41:00
Up every morning with enough
of the failing strength...

:41:03
that finally deserted her last year
at Miami Beach at the age of 91...

:41:08
to face another day
of hopelessness and despair.

:41:12
3134 Biscayne Boulevard.
:41:17
God.
:41:19
And you tell me you don't want him
in the ceremony!

:41:26
Look at these hands.
The hands of a judge?

:41:29
The hands of a professional man?
:41:32
Not on your sweet life.
:41:34
The hands of a worker!
:41:36
I worked!
:41:38
These hands toiled
from the time I was nine.

:41:41
Strike that. Seven.
Every morning up at 5:00...

:41:45
dressing in the pitch black to run down
seven flights of stairs, 13 steps a flight...

:41:49
I'll never forget them... to run
five blocks to the Washington market...

:41:52
unpacking crates
for 75 cents a week.

:41:55
A dollar if I worked
on Sundays. Maybe.

:41:59
Where was my God then?

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