When my daddy came to this town he told me that the loneliest sound he had ever encountered was the sound of stray dogs barking vaguely in the distance early in the morning, getting off the 5:30 train when there wasn't a soul in sight to be seen and the mist strengthened a barricade between you and whatever was lying out there waiting. "This here is a ghost town and I am well-acquainted with loneliness", he said. "It is the invisible currency we share."
He also said that you should never be afraid of anyone because even the meanest, toughest ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ has a neck that can snap just as easily as anyone else's, so "don't ever let anyone make you feel small, boy!"
Well my daddy was the meanest, toughest ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ and his neck never did snap, although it ought to have when he lunged at poor mama on Sunday evening with the alcohol establishing a thunderous carnival of lust and power-loving violence in his head. He was all froth, swinging eager arms reaching for something warm and pulsating and innocent, eyes in protest of any semblance of humanity. "Where is she? Where is she? Get back, I'll kill you!"
It took a 12 gauge shotgun to put him down and even then I wasn't sure he wouldn't get right back up again.