Flight is many things. Something clean and swift like a bird skimming across the sky. Or something filthy and crawling ; a series of crablike movements through figurative and literal slime, a process of creeping ahead, jumping sideways, running backward.
It is sleeping in fields and river bottoms. It is bellying for miles along an irrigation ditch. It is back roads, spur railroad lines, the tailgate of a wildcat truck, a stolen car and a dead couple in lovers' lane.
The Getaway
Jim Thompson
1959
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