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Coon Hunting in the Brambles
This fella – he’s a real gem.
The kinda fella, who leaves his fingerprints all over a crime scene… along with his photo, on a bloody Louisiana drivers license, dropped on the portico, as he struggled with the victim.
A real smart sort of fella – who throws his weapon in the first nearby stream, just three blocks down the road from the scene.
A hearty well-thought-out fella – that doesn’t use cash to buy his weapons. Only credit cards.
And when you go to interview this fella – his face and neck are hallmarked in deep scratches. And yes – the missing flesh, is under the victims fingernails.
But says this bright-eyed fella, he wasn’t the one to do the pretty work.
No Sir, this God-fearing fella, he tells us he got these scratches – from Coon Hunting in the Brambles.
Yep, you heard it right… “Coon Hunting in the Brambles.”
In the department, they call these kinda fellas – “Barrel Fish.”
My grandfather used to say, “What we got here boys, Is One Dumb-Ass Son of a Bitch.”
Now, this super-clever fella… he’s Coon Hunting on The Farm.
And I like that he’s there.
A fella like that, well, what can you say. He’s a real gem.
The sort of gem – that wears an Albatross around his neck… and then wonders, how things went wrong.
Anyway, that’s my two cents, on Mr. Taylor.
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The conversational tone of
The conversational tone of yours words cleverly dangles, but does not disclose, a huge backstory behind the incidents you are describing. I read this in between viewing segments of the film that I consider the greatest and most poetic ghost story every committed to celluloid---so I was well prepared and, yet paradoxically, not at all prepared for this very effective tale to work its process.
J-Called
Some funny folks in the world
Some real funny folks in the world. Some folks that live in their own world – and think no one can see into it. They always end in trouble soon enough. And The Farm ain't no place to be.