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.
Aha, gotcha! Expecting saucy bits, eh? Like, then he took her and laid her down, wasting no time, breaking her underclothing in his urgency… or She was like a volcano. At moments she surged with desire, with passion, like a stream of white-hot lava. Eh?
Well tough titties. We’re going to look at Connie with the wide blue eyes and her bored life and broken marriage instead – before she loses her knickers.