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Brad Evans bounced baby Tellulah on his knee. Then he 'dandled' her.
"Pure sentiment," thought Brad. "Fatherhood as yearning: just like in Rilke."
The child began to get dizzy and vomited on his lap.
"Vomit is an abstraction," he thought.
There was a knock on the door. Brad could see through the window that is was old man Jenkins from down the road a ways. He walked to the door holding Tellulah, opened it, and braced for the worst.
"See you ain't done signed that petition down at town hall," Jenkins said, without so much as a hello.
"Yeah..." Brad averred.
"Maybe you ought'n think about us 'round here that don't have fancy record deals to pay for government programs like that."
"And maybe you should keep your useless fucking opinions to yourself, old man."
Before he could finish the sentence, though, Brad found himself staring down the business end of Jenkins' Smith & Wesson 1884 Navy issue.
"What'd you just say to me, city boy?"
Brad motioned groundward with his eyes. Jenkins looked down to find his crotch at the business end of Evans's Bowie knife. Then they both enjoyed the ironic, knowing laugh of men who recognize and respect one another's lethality.
"You're learning, city boy," said Jenkins, backing away.
"Get the fuck off my land, cracker," Brad replied, smiling.
He closed the front door with his foot.
"Did someone say 'sentiment'?" he wondered.
Date Written: April 25, 2002
Average Vote: 4.1