Thinner

by Richard Bachman

laughed in an empty room. Loonies did that all the time; it was what made them loony.

the logic of dreams, after all, is only whatever the dream demands—and

You were starting to sound a little like a Stephen King novel for a while there, but it’s not like that.

All of his days were like that now. Upsy-downsy, weather unsettled, chance of showers.

the more things change, the more they stay the same. It

those suits were under the same terrible pressures as a submarine cruising far below her rated depth.

“I lost the path,” he said. “I just stood there for a minute or two wondering what to do next. And then I heard it, William. I heard it loud and clear. Sometimes the gods give you a break.” “What did you hear?” “A dog farting,” Ginelli said. “Good and loud. Sounded like someone blowing a trumpet with a mute on it.”

“Miss enough sleep and you goof up,” he said. “If you’re playing Monopoly, that’s all right. But if you’re dealing with fuckers that shoot people and then write discouraging words on their foreheads in chicken blood, you’re apt to die.

kid who looked like he was quite a few bricks short of a full load.