'You let whoever pays you off win!' (1.171-174) 'You crook,' he mumbled, shaking his head. Above the top of the poster were tall red letters: YOU CAN’T WIN! He snuffed his cigarette and laughed silently. The poster showed one of those faces that looked straight at you when you looked at it and all the while you were walking and turning your head to look at it it kept looking unblinkingly back at you until you got so far from it you had to take your eyes away, and then it stopped, like a movie blackout. He looked at the poster: the white face was fleshy but stern one hand was uplifted and its index finger pointed straight out into the street at each passer-by. Boy, if I was in his shoes for just one day I’d never have to worry again.' When the men were through they gathered up their pails and brushes and got into the truck and drove off. 'I bet that sonofab**** rakes off a million bucks in graft a year. He looked at the round florid face and wagged his head.
'He’s running for State’s Attorney again.' The men were slapping the poster with wet brushes. 'That’s Buckley!' He spoke softly to himself. They were pasting a huge colored poster to a signboard. With his hands deep in his pockets, another cigarette slanting across his chin, he brooded and watched the men at work across the street.
