Article: New York's Street-Writin' Man; Jim Carroll: After the Drugs and Teen Diaries, Growing Into `Forced Entries'

Inwood Hill Park, way up near the top of Manhattan, on a cloudy Sunday morning. Four neighborhood types, 18 to 21, loll on a bench drinking Bud out of paper bags, oblivious to the Sabbath. One guy, who sits up on the back above the rest, spots Jim Carroll with an explosion of New Yawkese.

"Hey! Jim Carroll! How's it goin', man?"

"Awright, awright. How's it goin'?"

His accent is almost identical. It's a glorious, ugly accent, an accent that prohibits snobbery and encourages cool. In his new book "Forced Entries: The Downtown Diaries 1971-1973," he boasts that it was the one thing California couldn't strip from him.

"Yeah, man," the guy goes on, "I read your book. When's the new one ...

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