Soapy lay on a bench in Madison Square, tossing and turning. Whenever geese sing in the night sky, whenever a woman without a seal coat makes out with her husband, and whenever Soapy lies tossing and turning on a bench in the street park, you will know that winter is coming.

A dead leaf fell on soapy's knee. This is the business card of the white killer. Jack is very polite to the old residents of Madison Square. He always says hello before he comes every year. He handed his business card to Beifeng, the doorman of the "open-air apartment" at the crossroads, to make the tenants ready.

Soapy knew that it was time for him to organize a single-person finance Committee in order to resist the cold winter. For this reason, he tossed and turned on the bench and couldn't sleep.

Soapy's winter living plan is not extravagant. He has no intention of cruising in the Mediterranean, nor does he want to bask in the sleepy sun in the south, let alone drifting in Vesuvius Bay. What he really wants is to spend three months on the island. Three months, no room and board, and the partners are congenial. There is no "North Wind" old man entangled with the police master. In Soapy's view, the joy of life is nothing more than that.

For many years, the hospitable Blackwell Island Prison has been his winter residence. Just like the luckier new york people buy tickets to Palm Beach and Riviera every winter, Soapy has to make some necessary arrangements for the annual "Winter Inauguration Ceremony". Now, it's time to hunt in winter. Last night, he lay on the fountain in the old square and a nearby bench, and stuffed three thick Sunday newspapers into his coat to cover his ankles and knees, but none of them could keep out the cold. This made Soapy's mind quickly and vividly see the shadow of the island. He despises charity for the local poor. In Soapy's eyes, law is much more merciful than relief. There are many places he can go, such as the municipal government, relief agencies, and eating and living together. Of course, life is not a luxury. But for a man with a proud soul like Soapy, charity is not feasible. Every benefit you get from charity costs nothing, but you have to pay spiritual humiliation in return. Just like Caesar's treatment of Brutu (5), everything really has advantages and disadvantages. If you want to sleep in the bed of a charity unit, you must first have someone take a bath; If you want to eat a piece of his bread, you have to explain your personal history in detail first. Therefore, it is better to be a guest of the law. Although the law is selfless and follows the rules, at least it is not so ignorant and will interfere in an uncle's private affairs.

Now that he has made up his mind to go to that island, Soapy is ready to carry out his plan at once. There are many ways to save trouble. The most comfortable thing is to have a nice meal in a luxurious restaurant and then declare that you are penniless, so that you can hand it over to the police quietly and quietly. The rest is taken care of by a wise judge.

Soapy left the bench, strolled out of the square and crossed the flat asphalt road at the intersection of Broadway and Wuma Road. He turned to Broadway and stopped at a brightly lit restaurant. Every night, the best products of grapes, silk and protoplasm gather here.

Soapy is confident in the bottom button of his vest. He shaved, his coat was passable, and a clean slipknot tie was given to him by a church lady on Thanksgiving Day. As long as he can walk to the table without suspicion, it is a shoo-in. His upper body exposed from the desktop is not enough to make the waiter suspicious. A roasted wild duck, thought Soapy, almost the same-another bottle of Chablis, then Camembert cheese, a small cup of espresso and a cigar. One dollar is fine. The total amount will not be so big as to retaliate against the hotel counter. This kind of rich food can make him feel free and satisfied during his trip to the Winter Palace.

But as soon as Soapy stepped into the hotel gate, the foreman's eyes fell on his old trousers and worn leather shoes. Thick and neat hands turned him around and quietly and quickly sent him to the sidewalk, thus reversing the disgraceful fate of the assassinated wild duck.

Soapy left Broadway. Toothache seems impossible to go to the island I miss so much. Either die or find another way.

At the corner of Liu Ma Road, there is a shop with bright lights and unique furnishings, and its large glass windows are very eye-catching. Soapy picked up a pebble and smashed it on the big glass. People came running around the corner, led by a policeman. Soapy stood quietly, his hands in his pockets, smiling at the brass buttons.

"Where is the guy who caused the accident?" The policeman asked angrily.

"Can't you see that I may have something to do with it?" Soapy said in a sarcastic but friendly tone, as if good luck was waiting for him.

Soapy is not even circumstantial evidence in the eyes of the police. People who break windows will not stay to deal with legal officials. They always run away. The police saw a man running half a block to catch the bus. He pulled out his baton and ran after the unfortunate man. Soapy was so angry that he dragged his feet away. Twice, both smashed the pot.

There is an obscure restaurant across the street. It attracts diners with big appetites and small wallets. Its dishes and atmosphere are rough, and its soup and napkins are light. When Soapy moved his exposed shoes and pants into the restaurant, he didn't get a dirty look. He sat at the table and ate a steak, a pancake, a doughnut and a stuffed cake. After eating, he confessed to the waiter that he had no chance to know Uncle Qian, and Uncle Qian had never seen him.

"Call the police quickly," said Soapy. "Don't keep grandpa waiting."

"There is no need to alarm the police chief," said the waiter, with a voice as greasy as cream cake and eyes as red as cherries soaked in cocktails. "Hey, Kang!"

Two waiters neatly forked Soapy out, just letting his left ear fall on the hard sidewalk. He supports himself section by section, just like a carpenter who opens a folding ruler and then dusts his clothes. Being arrested seems to be just a dream. This island is far away. Two facades away, a policeman stood in front of a drugstore. He just smiled and walked down the street.

Soapy walked five blocks before he got up the courage to chase again. There is a great chance this time, and he thinks it is a shoo-in. A young woman, dressed simply and charming, stood in front of the window, staring at the shaving cartridge and ink table on display with great interest. And two yards away from the store, there was a burly man, a policeman, leaning on the fire hydrant with a ferocious expression.

Soapy's plan is to play a dirty and annoying hooligan. His object is elegant and dignified, and there is a loyal policeman close at hand, which gives him every reason to believe that the lovely hands of the police will soon fall on him and let him eat and drink in the small comfort zone on the island in winter.

Soapy pulled up the slipknot tie given by the church lady, pulled out the shirt sleeve with the cuffs shrunk, pushed the hat back, and it was about to fall off, so it was pushed in front of the lady. Have the cheek to perform disgusting activities that hooligans should do. Soapy glanced sideways and saw the policeman staring at him. The young woman moved a few steps and looked intently at the shaving cartridge. Soapy followed her, boldly approached her, raised his hat and said:

"Aha, I said, Betty Leah! Didn't you say you were going to play in my yard? "

The police are still watching. That frivolous woman only needs to move her fingers, and Soapy is in Sen 'ang. In his imagination, he has felt the comfort and warmth of the patrol room. The young lady turned around, reached out a hand and grabbed Soapy's sleeve.

"Yes, Mike," she said happily, "but you have to spend money to buy me a beer first. If the patrolman hadn't been staring at me, I would have talked to you. "

Bitch clung to Soapy's oak tree like ivy, and Soapy walked past the police with great regret. It seems that his freedom is predestined.

As soon as he turned the corner, he left his girlfriend. He came to a place in one breath, and at night, the most frivolous lights, the most relaxed mind, the most rash vows and the most brisk operas gathered here. Ladies and gentlemen in light fur coats are walking happily in the cold air. Soapy suddenly felt a wave of fear. Will there be some terrible magic to subdue him so that he will never be arrested? The idea made him a little flustered, but when he met a policeman swaggering in front of a brightly lit theater, he immediately picked up the straw of "disturbing the peace".

Soapy straightened his broken gong voice on the sidewalk and shouted like a drunk. He jumped, shouted and cursed, and made a scene by any means.

The policeman turned his baton, turned his back on Soapy, and explained to a citizen:

"This is a Yale man celebrating victory. They play ball with Hadford College and treat people to duck eggs. It's noisy enough, but it doesn't matter We were instructed to let them just make trouble. "

Soapy discontentedly stopped the futile noise. No police came to arrest him? In his fantasy. The island has become an elusive paradise. He buttoned his thin coat against the biting wind.

He saw a well-dressed man lighting a cigarette against a swaying stove in a cigar shop. The man leaned a silk umbrella against the door when he entered the shop. Soapy walked into the shop door, picked up the silk umbrella and walked out slowly. Those who are on fire should be driven out quickly.

"My umbrella." He snapped.

"Oh, really?" Soapy sneer at a way; Add insult to the crime of petty theft. "Well, then why don't you call the police? Yes, I took it. Your umbrella! Why don't you call the patrol? There is one on the corner over there. "

The owner of the umbrella slowed down, and so did Soapy. He had a premonition that he was going to have bad luck again. The policeman looked at the two men curiously.

"Of course," said the umbrella owner. "Well ... yes, you know sometimes misunderstandings occur ... I ... I hope you don't take it amiss if this umbrella is yours ... I bought it in a restaurant this morning ... If you recognize it as yours, then ... I hope you don't ..."

"Of course it's mine." Soapy said maliciously.

The former owner of this umbrella retired. The good policeman hurried to help a tall blonde lady in an evening dress cross the street to avoid being knocked down by a tram coming this way two blocks away.

Soapy walked eastward and crossed a road that was uneven because of renovation. He threw his umbrella into a pit angrily. He mumbled curses at those guys with helmets and batons. Because he wants to fall into the French Open, and they just think he is a king who will never make mistakes.

Finally, Soapy came to a road leading to the East Side, where the lights dimmed and the noise came faintly. He walked along the street to Madison Square, because even though his home was just a bench in the park, he still knew instinctively where to go at night.

However, in an unusually quiet place, Soapy stopped. There is an old church here. This building is antique and irregular. This is the kind of house with gables. The soft light reflected through the lavender stained glass window, and the organist pressed the keyboard to practice Sunday's hymn. Touching music drifted into Soapy's ears, attracted him and glued him to the spiral iron railing.

The bright moon hangs in the sky, shining and quiet; There are few vehicles and pedestrians; The frozen birds under the eaves chirped a few times in their sleep-this state suddenly reminds people of the cemetery on the edge of the country church. The hymn played by the organist made Soapy settle down in front of the iron railing, because when his life had maternal love, roses, ambitions, friends and flawless thoughts and collars, the hymn was all too familiar to him.

Soapy's sensitive emotions at this time merged with the subtle influence of the old church, which made his soul suddenly change wonderfully. He suddenly felt disgusted with the mire he had fallen into. That decadent time, vulgar desire, disheartened spirit, will decline, bad motivation. All this now constitutes the content of his life.

In a flash, a new artistic conception stirred him like an alarm. A strong and rapid impulse inspired him to fight against the rough fate. He wants to pull himself out of the mud, and he wants to be a good man again. He wants to conquer and control his evil. It's not too late, he is still young, and he wants to regain his ambition and unswervingly realize it. The solemn and sweet tone of the organ caused a revolution in his mind. Tomorrow he will go to the busy business district to find something to do. Once a fur importer asked him to catch a car. He will go to the businessman tomorrow and accept the next job. He wants to be a passionate person. He will-

Soapy felt a hand on his arm. He turned his head quickly and saw the fat face of a policeman.

What are you doing here? Asked the policeman.

"Nothing." Soapy replied.

"Then you come with me." The police said.

The next morning, the judge of the police court announced, "Blackwell Island, three months."