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by Joe R. Lansdale

went home, put a TV dinner in the oven, and got a beer out of the refrigerator. I sat at the kitchen table and drank the beer and watched the stove like I was waiting on the Resurrection.

I like a man tries to be funny, even if he isn’t. I like to know he’s got a sense of humor, even when it isn’t a good one.”

I finished my beer and got my coat, and we left out of there, went over to the dark den of sad dreams and at least one bad liver.

“I say so and I got a gun.” “We all got guns.” “Yeah, but I have mine drawn and I don’t miss much.” This wasn’t true. I couldn’t hit a house if I was in it.