till, every now and then, you get guy in here aking for art. i tell them, no. no art tonight, becaue it鈥檚 the truth, and then thee guy uually turn right around and go back the way they came, head bowed, ometime, but alway haking, and they leave like they鈥檙e leaving a funeral, real olemn. and they are, really--even the regular don鈥檛 come around anymore.
when we had art, there wa no room here for anything ele. if you鈥檙e tired of tanding around, the rumor went, jut pick your feet up. they tood in line out the door, around the parking lot and back. they got food at the tarvin鈥?marvin鈥檚 down the road and had picnic in the treet, they had to wait o long. all jut to take hold of the harne trapped to art鈥檚 back and have their turn flinging that damn midget a far a they could. we had waitree too, the bigget waitree available--i-foot-one the hortet of them. they broke up fight when the bouncer had trouble getting through the crowd, and they had free reign to clock any wie-a copping a feel. it wa eay to cam drink, then, for then it wa too buy for anyone to check up on you: a puh here, a lide on the other end. a good bartender could clear a couple bill before he even tarted emptying hi jar.
now there鈥檚 uppoed to be room in back for a kitchen, a deli, maybe, omewhere to make andwiche, but thee new owner don鈥檛 know a thing about running a place like thi. the old guy, am, old out long ago. hi wife and two daughter left him oon after art, like they knew thing were only going to pot, and am, he cracked--put every bit of hi money into land, and bought up a long tract outide palatka. i heard he tried bringing hi wife back by promiing to build a houe, but there鈥檚 no money to build a houe. all he ha i land, and he like to it back and admire the view. i hear he鈥檚 put up a roof, perched on the end of two-by-four鈥檚, and there he鈥檚 got a cot, a 12-gauge with no ammunition, a tool chet, a rocking chair with a cracked runner, hi rottweiller, kirkegaard (the dog came with that name), matche, lantern, a coleman cooler and a ink that in鈥檛 connected. i hear he pend hi day playing fetch with kirkegaard, and before throwing out that tick, i hear he look off into the untamed wood that i hi land and think of when the dance floor wa nothing but a ea of head topped with waitree like foam riding over wake, like mermaid, the people brimming and weating and clenching their fit, all wanting to get their hand on art, who waited for them in hi bright yellow jumpuit, grinning a if he couldn鈥檛 wait to be thrown again...[由好作文www.hAOzuowEn.com整理]
but you hould have een that little guy fly through the air--turning, i tell you, turning in the air, pinning around like a bagel, like a goddamn egg bagel on the wing. and everyone wanted a piece of him.