God bless all con men and hustlers and pitchmen who hawk their hearts on the street, all two-time losers whore' likely to lose more than once, the courtesan who made the mistake of love, the greatest of lovers crowned with the longest of horns, the poet who wandered far from his heart's green country and possibly will and probably won't be able to find his way back, look down with a smile tonight on the last of the cavilers, the ones wit the rusty armor and soiled white plumes, and visit with understanding and something that's almost tender those fading legends that come and go in this plaza like songs not clearly remembered.
Tennessee Williams
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