Now this man can write dialogue. The story’s about a small-town – population 1280 – psycho sheriff. And it’s a hoot.
Here’s a taster. Clock the exasperation.
She took a long, shuddery heave. Then she came over to the lounge and stood over me. ‘You you you son-of-a-bitch’ she said. ‘You you you rotten stinking bastard. You – you gaddamned whoremongering, double-crossing, low-down, worthless, no-good, mean, hateful, two-timing onery -‘
‘Now, god-dang it, Rose,’ I said. ‘Danged if it don’t almost sound as if you was mad at me.’
‘Mad!’ she yelled. ‘I’ll show you how mad I am! I’ll -‘
Isn’t it lovely. I fine specimen of a compelling tête-à-tête.
If you you you know what onery is, please let me know. I think I might have one on my bottom.
Thanks for being here.
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