Notes
A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole“Why don’t you run along and partake in some dubious recreation that appeals to you,” Ignatius belched. “Look, there’s a sailor drifting along Chartres Street. He looks rather lonely.”
The young man glanced down to the Chartres Street end of the Alley.
“Oh, him,” he said. “That’s only Timmy.”
“Timmy?” Ignatius asked angrily. “Do you know him?”
“Of course,” the young man said in a voice heavy with boredom. “He’s one of my dearest, oldest friends. He’s not a sailor at all.”
“What?” Ignatius thundered. “Do you mean that he is impersonating a member of the armed forces of this country?”
“That’s not all he impersonates.”
“This is extremely serious.” Ignatius frowned and the red sateen scarf rode down on his hunting cap. “Every soldier and sailor that we see could simply be some mad decadent in disguise. My God! We may all be trapped in some horrible conspiracy. I knew something like this was going to happen. The United States is probably totally defenseless!”
