Mr. Simpson never was too friendly, but he sure did go oat the store like a house
on fire with his packa Craven A up his arm like a friggin’ box
en the ferrs at the counter was watchin’ arfter him like hawks, en whin one of
them asked me if they could buy me a packa O-Pee-Chee I told them I’d take
a dollar’s wortha bologna instead
en whin I set there gnawin’ on the thing like Shep done her bone, I saw the tractor
pass by, ’cept it weren’t no tractor, it were a big bulldozer, en Merle en Eldon were
talkin’ ’bout the piler money Mr. Simpson made whin he sold off the orchard
en whin I thought about Shep pissing on Mr. Simpson’s flower bed, I didn’t so much feel like laughin’, I felt like
cryin’ when I thought of Shep, leg all cocked, glassy eyes in Mr. Simpson’s headlights, ready to keel over from a
heart attack