Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
Craig Johnson -Junkyard Dogs-
Lines I like from this book
“So, has the Basquo talked to you?”
I started to yawn and covered my mouth with my hand. “About what?” “Quitting.”
“Hey, Geo, how are things up at the dump?”
His expression took on a serious quality, but he was nothing if not unfailingly polite. “With all due respect, Walt, Municipal Solid Waste Facility.”
“Fuck you.”
“It’s amazing the respect I seem to command from my staff, isn’t it?”
“How is your foot?”
“Fabulous.”
He studied me with a look, and the only description that might apply would be askance. “You’re still limping.”
“I’ve come to consider it a character trait.”
“Take off your hat.”
“I don’t think that’s going to help with the limp.”
“It would appear, that at the dump—”
“You mean the Municipal Solid Waste Facility?”
since I’d pitched the last one into the Powder River after I decided that I was not a black hat kinda guy.
As he secured the Beretta, I turned and saw the strangest thing I’d seen all day, and I’d seen a lot of strangeness up to this point. George Stewart and my ninth-grade English/civics teacher were entwined in a passionate kiss.
“I’m not so sure that would strictly define the environs of the dump.”
“Municipal Solid Waste Facility.” Evidently Geo had educated the Doc, too.
“grand matron of Redhills Rancho Arroyo is shtupping the junkman?”
“I think Municipal Solid Waste Facility Engineer is the title he prefers.”
“Another good reason for you to not move to New Mexico—it’s warm down there, and you can bleed to death.”
I left Dog with Henry, Henry with Vic, and Vic with Ozzie.
I waited for her to provide the rest so that I wouldn’t have to come across with a more palatable version of shtupping the junkman.
“That I what, Sheriff?”
I was going to have to come across with a more palatable version of shtupping the junkman.
We circled to the right and the open window. We hadn’t bothered with bars since it was so small and high up and because I was practically the only one who used the shower.
“How in the hell did he get through that?”
I shot a look at her. “Determination.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but have you seen a man in a bathrobe run by here?”
Trudy Thorburn, a diminutive blonde, pointed. “He went thatta way, Walt.”
“Thank you.”
“I quit too, and I’m moving to a place where the temperature is in double digits.”
“What kind of shotgun?”
“20-gauge, coach gun.”
“Why in the hell would he buy something like that?”
“Only thing that would fit under his bathrobe?”
“Ozzie, if you shoot me I am going to be very disappointed in you.”
“Did you ever get an X-ray series done after the accident?”
“Which one?”
He shook his head at me,
“Are you all right?”
“I am a clamorous harbinger of blood and death.”
“Is everybody in this county a smart-ass?”
My deputy sipped her coffee. “Pretty much.”
“Ruby said to tell you that if you don’t go, she’s quitting, too.”
“You’re limping.”
“Yep, but I don’t think it has anything to do with my eye.”
Henry stood, looking at me and the bathroom, where no sounds escaped. “You do not have a window in there, do you?”
“So while old lady Dobbs is shtupping the junkman, Ozzie is shtupping the granddaughter?”
I opened my eyes just a little and couldn’t see much better than when they were closed.
Oscar Wilde said:
"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”
And this
"With freedom, flowers, books, and the moon, who could not be perfectly happy?"
And then this
"I am tired of myself tonight, I should like to be someone else"
And now someone please tell me if I am the only one who thinks his thoughts are so similar to me...
He could have been a great friend.