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354 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 2010
"She was the Paris Hilton of Granby. Talk about trash."
"There was no telling if they were ever good girls, but boredom and the disease of little expectation had rotted them both to where all one could expect was when the next would be expecting."
I looked down the street to see the three dumbest human beings perched on the tires at Griffin’s Garage. Roland Wyck had his hands between his legs, and he was rocking back and forth while it looked like Milford East was punching Willie Strictland in the stomach. You couldn’t help but stare. These were people who voted, drove, and procreated. They had a voice, however weak, in our government and would be expected to mold and shape the young minds of their offspring. It was a terrifying, yet fascinating, concept.
"White trash folks, on the other hand, have no idea how trashy they are...They look down on other folks and operate under the misconception that the darker the skin, the dumber the person...or at least, the more prone to violence."
"S*it!" Wolfe yelled, climbing out of the car before Fox had stopped. "They're dropping like flies! Look at 'em. They're dropping like flies! What the hell?"
"All right, so we'll check out their house and the Town Pump. He hangs out there a lot. If not we'll go over to Paradice Park-you know, to your people. ..."
"My people?"
"Your peeps. You're their homegirl." ... "Let's roll, homey.