ss, or ignorant, or
greedy ... and a maple tree will be hurt....

Think about that the next time someone is real nice to you. He may be
a _slizzer_ ... and a careless one....

How long do we live?

Right. About sixty, seventy years.

You probably don't think much about that, because that's just the way
things are. That's life. And what the hell, the doctors are increasing
our lifespan every day with new drugs and things, aren't they?

Sure.

But perhaps we'd live to be about a _thousand_, if the _slizzers_ left
us alone.

Ever stop to think how little we know about why we live? ... what it
is that takes our structure of bones and coldcuts and gives it the
function we call "life?"

Some mysterious life-substance or force the doctors haven't pinned
down yet, you say--and that's as good a definition as any.

Well, we're maple trees to the _slizzers_, and that life-stuff is the
sap we supply them. They do it mostly when we're feeling good--feeling
really terrific. It's easier to tap us that way, and there's more to
be had. (Maybe that's what makes so-called manic-depressives ... they
attract _slizzers_ when they feel tip-top; the _slizzers_ feed; and
_floo-o-m_ ... depressive.)

Like I say, think about all this next time someone treats you just
ginger-peachy, and makes you feel all warm inside.

So see how long that feeling lasts ... and who is hanging around you
at the time. Experiment. See if it doesn't happen again and again with
the same people, and if you don't usually end up wondering where in
hell your nice warm feeling went off to....

* * * * *

I found out about the _slizzers_ when I went up to Joe Arnold's
apartment last Friday night.

Joe opened the door and let me in. He flashed me his big junior-exec's
grin and said, "Sit, Jerry. I'll mix you a gin and. The others'll be
along in awhile and we can get the action started."

I sat down in my usual chair. Joe had already fixed up the table ...
green felt top, ashtrays, coasters, cards, chips. I said, "If
Mel--that's his name, isn't it, the new guy?--if he starts calling
wild games again when it comes his deal, I'll walk out. I don't like
'em." I looked at the drink Joe was mixing. "More gin."

Joe crimped half a lime into the glass. "He won't call any crazy stuff
tonight. I told him that if he did, we wouldn't invite him back. He
nearly ruined the whole session, didn't he?"

I nodded and took the drink. Joe mix