Every Day Is St. Patrick’s day!

Willy has just returned from Los Angeles where he has found the perfect drug. Obsessional as he is on these jags of his, after several raving phone calls he has already made a connection for the stuff here in New York. He can score at the 300 from the vet.

Now he's cackling cryptically as he does just before he's going to launch into some maniacal harangue.

"Green, man. Woooow..." More cackling. "It's it, man. This is the greatest drug of the 20th century." He lowers his voice. "You will not belieeeeeve the high from this stuff."

"What is it?"

"It's GREEN!" he shouts,' incredulous at our ignorance.

"Some sort of weirdo street concoction, huh?"

"Hey! It's fucking GREEN. That's all. It's not shit. It's GREEN."

You have to understand there's no arguing with this guy. And his enthusiasm, his obsession, whatever it may be directed towards this week, is so selfconsuming that somehow his abrasiveness is entertaining.

One pursues him. "What does green feel like?"

"It feels like GREEN."

"Oh."

"Is it green-colored?"

"No, no, no, man, it's white, a white powder."

"Whaddya do, snort it?"

"Yeees/" Cackling again.

"Is this stuff dangerous?"