“They fart, you know,” the cop said in his bloodsoaked voice. “Buzzards fart.”
“They fart, you know,” the cop said in his bloodsoaked voice. “Buzzards fart.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yessir, only birds that do. I tell you so you can put it in your book. Chapter 16 of Travels with Harley.” Johnny thought the putative title of his book had never sounded so quintessentially stupid.
