“Paw you gotta be funnin.”
“No Teke, Bodie, Californy.”
“Paw, xing said dey dig up demons n’ Bodie n’ got songs bout im too’
“Who sings these songs?”
“The slanteys and the sooties,.”
The minister yanked the boys ear, with the same cruelty he pulled on the half plug of spittin leaf, that caused the old man to look like his jaw had a tumor that never went down, even during his sermons that usually ended in, “ PTINK amen”.
Lil Teke was stretched to tippy toes by the masochistic ministration of the ruthless reverend “Hurt son?”
“I’z sorry, i repeent,please paw, use tay’rin off ma uur.”
The preacher spoke real quite to his agonizing child, “Son your savior was skinned nailed and crucified fer the people you just called sutties and slanties PTINK (his tobacco spit aim was dead on the mark with over ten feet to the target, low light and a light breeze) two hours on the hulls,”
“Please paw, not the hulls”
FTAPT ; Was the sound the back of his hand made when it drew crimson from Teke’s mouth.
“NOW”