HOSS: (to CROW) Wing it, dogmeat.

CROW: Eeeew! Freejump jigee! Step right off in the crystal blue. There he’s sailin! Look there! Now! That’s him!

(DOC reenters and joins BECKY and CHASER on the sidelines as they watch CROW stalk HOSS in the middle.)

CROW: (to DOC as he sees him enter) Join ’em up, join ’em up, join ’em up. We be circling the wagons here. We be old-time schooling. We be hip-hopping, rag-moppin, doo-wop diddle boppin. How many lines we gotta cross before you all git the big picture? HUH! How many corny lines we gotta bust yer silly chops with before the dawn cracks yer ass wide open! HUH! You cipher me as some crude anomaly? Is that it? I’m the Norm, Jim. I am the fuckin river! And I’ve gone clean up over the banks. Now, you swim! Lemme see y’all pump them bony elbows and blow snot. (to DOC) Come on, Viejo! Pump it!

HOSS: Missed the whole era. Never touched the backseat.

(CROW charges HOSS savagely, setting him off balance. He gets right after him, relentless in his assault.)

CROW: That’s it! That’s it! Back! Way back! We wanna go back. We wanna go way back, dark. We wanna git a hole so deep the feet and tongue go lost. Down back coughin in the corner. Dyin from the wet lung. Back down lonely in the dayroom. Dyin for the Daddy. Dyin for the Mama. Dyin for the agelong Frankenstein Fambily. Dyin for the Kin Folk, misery and sin. Dim down. Dim down. Back. Go way back yonder. Desperate honor. Glory for the Black Man. Glory for the brother. The Gray Blue Black Catastrophe. And then get horny. Now git yer horns up. Get drippin red now. Here he comes stormin! Here he comes knockin over pay phones. He be rippin now! Jacked way up on his own dead juices. Rollin over Beethoven, Rockin pneumonia. Befloppin to the Fat Man. Drivin to the small talk. Here he comes. Drive by. Gotta make his big mark. Take a shot at the carhop. Now there’s a deed. Full of honor. Full of greed. Now we find him in the can-can. Bewildered. Stunned. Doin time, time. Whinin like a wino. Whinin in the dim dim. Whinin all the time oh. Whinin, whinin.

(CROW slides off and away from HOSS, leaving him shaken, reeling.)

BECKY: Hoss! Just give him the crib. Let’s slide outa here. He’s too fast.

DOC: I didn’t even see half that shit comin, Hoss.

HOSS: He’s fast. He’s flash.