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“Goddamnit, I hate murder more than just about anything,” said Sheriff Red Jetty. “It can just ruin a day.”
“Shut up, fool girl,”
“Mr. Mayor, this here is the sovereign state of Mississippi. There ain’t no law enforcement, there’s just rednecks like me paid by rednecks like you.”
“A thousand miles for every pound of your fat ass.”
“Fuck you, old lady.
“He didn’t have no money or a lick of sense, but he was a good man.”
“Well, honey, your daddy was just brutally murdered.
The house was slated to be razed, but it also had possibilities as a meth-making lab, so it remained.
I’ll call and make a reservation at the Motel fucking 8.”
Did I mention that I hate dead people? Especially dead, disappearing Negroes.”
“My granddaddy told me that back in the nineteen tens, you could find a hanging Black man at the end of every turned row.”
How come there ain’t no ‘Sweet Home Mississippi’ song?”