“You done yammerin, boy?”

Jed took a heavy breath, “You never appreciate the depth of my thought process.”

“I’d sho nuff ‘preciate the depth of you getting some gawl darn work done!”

“Fine, fine, but we have all afternoon to get the fence up, and there’s what? 20, maybe 30 yards to go?”

“An thet’s 20 or 30 more yards of yer yammerin that I kin do without!”

Jed went back to unrolling the razor wire with thick-gloved hands, muttering under his breath. The woes of the young are forever lost on the aged, it seemed to him.

“Sides,” the older man mused while wrestling a post into place, “much as you run on et tha mouth, you never do a darn thing, do ya?”

“So what do I do then, huh?”

“Don’t s’pose I see any fence keepin ya on tha Slidin J, nor any rightful claim Jess has on yer heart.”

“So?”

“So go on, boy. Run.”

Jed winced as a barb found his finger through the leather, but still spat after the curses, “Run where?”

“It really matter where? Just matters when, boy.”