He was a misshapen thing, bulking a black blotch in the night at the entrance of the dark alleyway-like some lurking creature in its lair. He neither stood, nor kneeled, nor sat-no single word would describe his posture-he combined all three in a sort of repulsive, formless heap. The Flopper moved. He came out from the alleyway onto the pavement, into the lurid lights of the Bowery, flopping along knee to toe on one leg, dragging the other leg behind...