Friday, July 3

from DOG OF THE SOUTH, by Charles Portis

"The kind of people I know now don't have barbecues, Mama. They stand
up alone at nights in small rooms and eat cold weenies. My so-called
friends are bums. Many of them are nothing but rats. They spread T.B.
and use dirty language. Some of them can even move their ears. They're
wife-beaters and window peepers and night crawlers and dope fiends.
They have running sores on the backs of their hands that never heal.
They peer up from cracks in the floor with their small red eyes and
watch for chances."

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