One dog was black as a panther and another was white with brown ticking like flung paint. There was another white, a female and smaller than the rest with a half-black face and a black spot in a shape that reminded Joe of Louisiana, south of Baton Rouge. And there was the dark silken brindle, in red silks with a white number one stitched on the sides. Joe would have paid to watch that brindle just walk, but he was down to his last twenty dollars and it was not entertainment he sought. He had to turn that twenty into something more so he was back looking at the red fawn. It was stuck in his head, somehow, that such a ramshackle dog would win the race because he didn't have anything going for him but to win. He was due. It was such thinking that lead Joe to his present state.
David Williams
Maybe in West Memphis I'll Find My Joy
from The Soundcheck & the Fury blog
More on www.davidwwilliams.blogspot.com
Thanks for the mention. In your comment on my blog, you mentioned Stanley Booth's Rythm Oil -- I love that book; it's on my desk where I write every morning, signed by Stanley with a quote from Furry Lewis. Haven't read the Anderson book but I actually have a used copy somewhere. I need to find it. I've linked to your blog from mine -- looks great.
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