Shirt Mix-Up at the Laundry

Novak for hire. I'm Pat Novak for hire. That's what the sign out in front of my office says Pat Novak for hire.

It's easy to rent yourself out and you make a few bucks, but sooner or later you get burned. It doesn't make any difference whether you're a man or a mouse because down on the waterfront in San Francisco they build the traps both ways.

Everything looks easy, but sometimes they fool you like putting shatterproof glass in a fire alarm box And you got to watch out every minute Because down here if you reach out to help a panhand little guy'll take your arm and hands you back to dime I rent boats and deal any place Good trade in on a second hand soul

Works out all right Sometimes you're on top of the heat if you like the kind of heats they got down But you got to get your laughs in the hurry. Because you find out right away you're not going to make any more headway than a humming burden or wind tunnel.

I found that out Wednesday afternoon. It must have been about three o'clock. The sun was out down at the far end of the bay. It put a head on the clouds down there and put the rest of the sky in a good mood.

Over across the bay it was a warm, easy yellow that made you think of a pound cake full of eggs. It was too nice a day to work inside, so I closed shop and started down to a pool hall on Market Street.

I never got there, because on the way I stopped by the laundry to pick up a couple of shirts. It started right there, when the clerk walked over to me. He was full of fizz, and the sort of guy got the bottle of hand lotion for his birthday.