By Andrew Lennon
Dave cherished not anything greater than to take a seat and waste his lifestyles away. till one evening his international used to be grew to become the wrong way up and his existence ripped aside, throwing him right into a needs to win conflict with an unknown enemy. With time working out and the percentages opposed to him. Can he cease this "thing" or is it too overdue?
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Extra resources for A Life To Waste
The man had a long, bony look to him and though he, too, was decked out in a three-piece, as bizarre a collection of humanity as did not fit properly, fit in such conclusion that no article of the to correctly from that cadaverous frame. double-breasted pin-striped, the a way in fact as to lead clothing ever had hung Rex suit Kem Nunn 30 Bony wrists and white cufiFs shot from the end of either sleeve and hung there at weird angles ruby-red cufF links and gold rings flashing in the smoky gloom of the bar.
Fuckin' A. The blacks were outnumbered three to one but not an ass left a chair. It was kind of sad, really. Floyd Hummer went back to the bar and started washing glasses and when one of the regulars got up to play the jukebox he shouted at the guy to leave the motherfucking thing alone. It was closing time, for Christ's sake. And so it was. And before long what was left of the locals began slinking out the door, into the cold, black hours of a brand-new day. — — Hummer was about to leave himself when suddenly all men rose and started toward the bar.
He — — Unassigned Territory 27 From where Rex stood he could see most of the junction, the gas and market, the dozen or so house trailers climbing the slow rise above the Cock & Bull, their aluminum bodies catching moonlight so that they seemed to hang there against the blackness of the hill like so many strange aircraft descending upon the town. Looking toward the highway he could make out that spot where the old version of the interstate joined a little-used back road wide sweep of sand and gravel white in the light that spilled from the Chevron, and just beyond that the dark, rambling shape of his father's Desert Museum locked and boarded now, alone station — — with its single exhibit.