"I'm Waiting for the Man": TRANSLATED

    I am currently anticipating the arrival of a male associate of mine.  I am holding 26 dollars in cash.  As I travel to my destination, the corner of Lexington Avenue and East 125th Street in Harlem, I have a pronounced sensation of being unwell, untidy and indeed nearly lifeless.
    "Salutations, my young Caucasian friend!  What business do you have above 96th Street?  Might you be pursuing our ladyfolk, my young Caucasian friend?"
    "Au contraire, my good fellow, that is the last thing I want to do.  I merely seek one of my very good chums.  You see, I am currently anticipating the arrival of a male associate of mine."
    My male associate now arrives.  All his clothes are black and he sports footwear currently fashionable among certain gentlemen of Puerto Rican ancestry, as well as a chapeau woven out of dried grain stalks.  He does not make a habit of arriving ahead of schedule; or, to put it another way, he is consistently tardy.  Where this fellow's punctuality is concerned, one quickly grasps that one must bide one's time.
    Operate it without further ado.
    I approach and then enter a row house clad in umber sandstone, ascending to the third floor via the stairwell, whereupon I enter a very crowded room, although nobody seems to mind the cramped conditions.  My male associate holds a hypodermic syringe loaded with a dose of heroin and obligingly injects me with it.   Unfortunately, I'm in a hurry and must leave promptly.
    My dear, please refrain from yelling, sobbing and generally raising your voice: right now, I'm experiencing a feeling of deep contentment and don't worry, I will eventually overcome my addiction.  In the meantime, I'm experiencing a feeling of deep contentment and serenity — for the time being, anyway.
    Escort it to your residence.