Tropic of Capricorn

by Henry Miller

When the others were gone he’d suddenly shift gears. “You don’t believe in talking like that, do you?,” he’d begin. I had to admit I didn’t. “You’re wrong,” he’d continue. “You’ve got to keep in with people, you don’t know when you may need one of these guys. You act on the assumption that you’re free, independent! You act as though you were superior to these people. Well, that’s where you make a big mistake. How do you know where you’ll be five years from now, or even six months from now? You might be blind, you might be run over by a truck, you might be put in the bughouse; you can’t tell what’s going to happen to you. Nobody can. You might be as helpless as a baby....” “So what?” I would say. “Well, don’t you think it would be good to have a friend when you need one? You might be so goddamned helpless you’d be glad to have some one help you across the street. You think these guys are worthless; you think I’m wasting my time with them. Listen, you never know what a man might do for you some day. Nobody gets anywhere alone....”