There was nothing Reilly could do now -- except stand with his back ot the bar as the pathetic black circus of his life unraveled around him.
He imagined Dropsy's wide brown eyes searching for hints of code, probing imagined or hidden meanings within the woven color of fabric -- as if the fabric of an old shirt might also contain answers to the fabric of the universe itself.
What is a man of God to do when the clear instructions of The Savior conflict with the plain feelings of right and wrong that God himself has placed in his chest?
Marcus Nobody Special
Most of the locals thought Marcus crazy. Some even thought him a ghost, people saying he'd died, buried his own bones and come back; that he was on some kind of mysterious mission to find a particular fish that would let him go back to the grave in peace. That fish, they said, had stolen Marcus' soul.
Most gals come around to Doctor Jack just hoping for a quick fix to what the view as an imminent crisis or a state of impendin' personal doom. Figgerin' a cure is a cure and don't reckon that a cure might turn out bad.
Beauregard pulled some cards from his lousy hand, slapped them down, said, "Hit me three times," when he should have just folded.
The player considers the note. He cannot sustain. There is no reason. But the weakening tone is somehow unfinished. Like a spirited pup born too soon, too small and too weak to live, knowing nothing of life but clinging to it anyway; stupidly, stupidly...