ong. He used to be a school principal or something, all righteous and upstanding, back in the days before they'd bust you for that type of thing. Maybe even before talk shows, b

rks barber shoppe. Yeah, the meatworks has its own barber on Saturd

Vernon, the unisex usu

I wear the reddest T-shirt you ever saw, like a goddam six-year-old or something. I didn't

, sir, it'll o

l, M

lp you out. We'll have to fin

cracked and hardened to plastic. I check them for arm clamps. I'm in one, Deutschman is in the other; his hands creep around under his gown. He seems happy to wait. Then a whistle blows outside, and the meatworks' marching band assembles o

but he's neatly groomed. And he has a job,

ls like to be so gifted. He just s

alves of a fly hit the deck. 'Barry was

, yes,' says

nk, or anot

ard it was a panty cult - y

cid pearls in my pocket; nasty gels, according to Taylor, like your mind would projectile-exit your nose if you to

n last night, with Lally and the world's media camped outside. I only got four steps away from my porch before they came a-sniffing. Now they thi

AT team, with some of they automatic guns, that rip the meat off offenders' bodies

r'n dogs,' sa

l, Vern,'

stuff

' store might

ha

- Seb Harris even bou

bout. Anyway, Seb's dad just h

I'm counting on you to make good. All

boys, Ma, li

Randy an

nd Eric

ove you're all grown up it's about time you got wi

h, r

on't let's end up like that other time after I found thos

n, M

, cuss yo

't cus

your father

r. I spin out of the chair, ri

ahead and humiliate your mother,

rio may be a fucken joke, but you don't mess with the boys from Smith County. Smith County has armored personnel carriers, for chrissak

s, so they can wear a knowing smile next time they see me. Underpants my ass. And there's no drugs link, is there fuck. Jesus never had the damn money. See Hysteriaville here? Science says there must be ten squillion brain cells in this town, but if you so mu

matter what words you say, you feel it on your blade. Like, 'Wow, see that car?' 'Well it's the same blue as that jacket you threw up on at the Christmas show, remember?' What I learned is that parents succeed by managing the database of your dumbness and y

somebody with oldtimer's disease, who doesn't remember what's good for them, I glance at my T-shirt. 'Ping,' it jackrabbits to Lally

g m

d, but the dogs are close by. They'd know. Anyway, I ain't that decisive in life, not with all this grief on board

those cops? They came fr

the floor as we cut a

down his eyebrows in the mirror. You can tel

ask,'

ing som

rin

t down here? I didn't se

p. But it ain't in the shop. The car paid for the new ru

u think the

rch

ake my advice - I could cut a report by sundown, it could air by tonigh

ing low in the seat. I

hear Lally's offer, but just sit wishing Marion Nuckles would tell his damn story. He knows I'm clean, he was there. I can't believe I g

ext to it, some media men pay a buck a hit for some fudge from Houston. One of the fudge sellers gloomily puts on an apron. The apron sellers gloomily munch fudge. My face goes Porked Monkey. It's the face for when life aroun

ne,' sa

y w

seng, keep you

gs would never smell through the ginseng. I reach down for a bottle, but Lally brakes to avoid

one off the floor, sniffs it, and grins. Then he looks at

ain't mine

ay,' he says, frown

ck nose onto Beulah Drive, a block behind

He lifts himself up, and stashes th

he bottle into the Nike box, next to my padlock key, and hide it back in my closet. As I stroll onto the porch, all nonchalant, cooled by a sweat of relief, I see Vaine Gurie, Mom, and a Smith County officer arrive in the truck. Air-conditioning blows their hair li

ming of these ladies is astounding, I have to say, like they have scandal radar or something. They foam out of the car like suds from a sitcom washing machin

room - I just can't be s

I almost make it back into the house, but Vaine Gurie unfolds faster than y

, Doris?' asks L

rls,' says Mom. 'There

eona, 'they're coming to lay

Edition,' says Mom, scuttling over the dirt. 'I s

ll. She do

nside the house. 'Honey, of course they'll come after him i

ails away into the dark. 'Well I could

rie. 'Let's go fo

red truth, imminent apology. None app

cult to explain the fingerprin

llows, oblivious. The mantis rattles behind market stalls made of kitchen tables sat in a patch of tall grass that laps the edge o

,' he stat

for me to blow a fucken kiss, or bre

the window. 'Jo

g at my Nikes. 'Old,' he explains pat

ie Camper.' Then at mine, 'Price

e n

fucke

oy j

at me through my own front doorway, until the screen cracks shut in front of it. Then, just as the offic

before - even murderers are love

I ain't a

- it's just

, motioning like a camera with his h

over, inside out. I spin to see Lally through the back window as he rushes to her, puts a hand to her shoulder. Her ole soggy hea

ck through her window with all the air in the fucke

buzzes somewhere in the background; I listen out for a news-flash about my innocence, but instead the wea

huh. All your noise about Prettykins, and now - don't tell me - it's a fuckin burger diet, right? Sur

ck-you pout crowded with teeth. Barry E Gurie - Detention Executive,

ge his breath hits you like a solid block, just slithers down your face leaving a trail of onion-relish and lard. What a disgusting human being, I swear. If this is how much of an asshole everybody's going to be, ab

le spanky-cheeked Doris Little, who could be played by Kathy Bates, who was in that movie Misery. Tears of pride at the excellent sanitation, and at my decent, orderly life. See how it works? It's the future now, young Vernon has been vindicated. Now he's buying her a clay donkey, or some of those salad utensils Mrs Lechuga makes such a big deal about. The salad ut

wasn't close to her at school, even though we nearly made out once. I say nearly because, fucken typical of me, I had her on a plate and I let her go. You're just never taught when to be an asshole in life. There was this senior Party that I wasn't invited to, and Taylor was there, face as soft as panties, just her big wet eyes seeped out. She left the party and crashed on the back seat of a Buick in the Church parking lot, where I just happened to be with my bike. She was wasted. She called me over. Her voice was sticky like freshly bitten cake. Some drugs fell out of her clothes onto the ground by the car. I pick

that wastes me today; fucken hauntings of hollows between elastic and thigh, tang ablaze with cotton and apricot muffin, cream cheese and pee. But no, duh, I went inside. I even kind of strode in, like a TV doctor, all fucken mature. It fucken slays

ruit-air to escape and waste me. Mexican fruit-air, boy, if I have my way. As I abandon myself to the dream, mu