This is, I swear to you, a page from an actual
book, and I took the liberty of typing it out in entirety
(More or less, I removed a few words for the sake of
timing, and mucked with the pronouns because it's largely
irrelevant, but those changes dont mean anything I
swear.)
The title of the book is "A Hard Rain"
*******
The gun never got clear of his armpit.
I spun and swung hard into his chin, like his jaw was a redwood to be cut down.
The big lug became loose like a rag doll, thumping down on the hood of a blue dodge like a brass drumbeat. The big gun clattered down into the gutter.
I flipped the bag of flesh over, then grabbed him by the front of his coat and hauled him up close. His grey eyes read dumb, and his legs were doing real good impressions of wet noddles, cooked raw.
But stupid boy wasnt done being stupid yet, and he stupidly tried to fight back.
Real bad thinking.
I pounded him hard in the stomach, and the guy doubled over with a choking sound, like a cat trying to cough up a hairball. I stepped to the side to make sure that none of his dinner made it onto my shoes.
It took a minute, then the guy caught his breath as if coming up from trying to swim a lap at the YMCA pool underwater.
I caught the guys lapel again and pulled him back to a standing position. For a second time I brought him close staring into the grey eyes.
"You want to tell me why you were about to pull a gun on me?" I asked, my voice as low as I could make it, my nose just inches from the other man's nose. "Spill it!"
I could tell the guy was gonna have a sore jaw for a week. He moved it before speaking and the smell of garlic filled my face like the air blowing from an Italian resturant's exhaust fan. I held my grip and my ground and kept staring into the man's dull eyes.
***********
The entire book is like that, but when I got to the Italian resturant's exhaust fan, I knew I simply had to transcribe a part of this to share with you all.
The title of the book is "A Hard Rain"
*******
The gun never got clear of his armpit.
I spun and swung hard into his chin, like his jaw was a redwood to be cut down.
The big lug became loose like a rag doll, thumping down on the hood of a blue dodge like a brass drumbeat. The big gun clattered down into the gutter.
I flipped the bag of flesh over, then grabbed him by the front of his coat and hauled him up close. His grey eyes read dumb, and his legs were doing real good impressions of wet noddles, cooked raw.
But stupid boy wasnt done being stupid yet, and he stupidly tried to fight back.
Real bad thinking.
I pounded him hard in the stomach, and the guy doubled over with a choking sound, like a cat trying to cough up a hairball. I stepped to the side to make sure that none of his dinner made it onto my shoes.
It took a minute, then the guy caught his breath as if coming up from trying to swim a lap at the YMCA pool underwater.
I caught the guys lapel again and pulled him back to a standing position. For a second time I brought him close staring into the grey eyes.
"You want to tell me why you were about to pull a gun on me?" I asked, my voice as low as I could make it, my nose just inches from the other man's nose. "Spill it!"
I could tell the guy was gonna have a sore jaw for a week. He moved it before speaking and the smell of garlic filled my face like the air blowing from an Italian resturant's exhaust fan. I held my grip and my ground and kept staring into the man's dull eyes.
***********
The entire book is like that, but when I got to the Italian resturant's exhaust fan, I knew I simply had to transcribe a part of this to share with you all.
It's like Miller juvenailia.
Must've been the chili.
