..boys by civil calculations, we had by now roughed up the swami and slept where the elephant shits, Shocking us would have required some kind of genius.
Woe To Live On
Her right hand held a bottle of Pepsi that she'd clogged with peanuts and called a late lunch.
Daniel WoodrellI was not much used to women except for mothers. Everything I did, they did different.
Daniel WoodrellTag: civil-war coming-of-age western
Whatever are we to do about you, baby girl? Huh?' 'Kill me, I guess.' 'That idea has been said already. Got'ny other ones?' 'Help me. Ain't nobody said that idea yet, have they?
Daniel Woodrellbabies don't know anything but nipples and lullabies.
Daniel WoodrellTag: happy-playgrounds
babies don't know anything but nipples and lullabies. they splash out looks of wonder on anybody whether they merit it or not.
Daniel WoodrellTag: happy-playgrounds
I got my face close up to the man still standing. I let him understand that there was oodles of danger in me; my head wobbled loose, three ticks off center. This scary face is all them such as me has to show this other world, the world in charge of our world, that musters any authority, gets any reluctant respect at all. If us lower elements didn't show our teeth plenty and act fast to bite, we'd just be soft, loamy dirt anybody could walk on, anytime, and you know they would, too, since even with a show of teeth there's a grassless path worn clear across our brains and backs.
Daniel WoodrellI think one of our cardinal fuckups is how we insist that even vicious whimsical crazy shit needs to make sense, add up, belong to a reason. We lay this pain on ourselves--there must be a reason behind this horror, there must, but I ain't adequate to findin' it, and that's my fault, so torture me some more.
Daniel WoodrellThe old man had been tanned by the light of too many beer signs, and it just goes to show that you can’t live on three packs of Chesterfields and a fifth of bourbon a day without starting to drift far too fuckin’ wide in the turns.
Daniel WoodrellTag: aging hard-boiled grim hard-life hillbilly-noir life-sucks-then-you-die louisiana-cajun-proles swamp-noir
Gail had a baby named Ned who was four months old, and a new look of baffled hurt, a left-behind sadness, like she saw that the great world kept spinning onward and away while she'd overnight become glued to her spot.
Daniel WoodrellTag: poverty baby teen-mother
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