“These are different times we’re living in, a whole new set of rules. The kids around here, they think they’re too good to work. Only choice left is either trash or Mexicans, and I’ll take the stupid Mexicans any day.” He prodded me in the ribs, “Watch this. ‘Bueños Dios, Miguel.’” A small, dark-eyed man looked up from his wood splitting, alarmed. “They spook easy,” Hobbs said. Yes, well, people tend to do that when you come up behind them shouting, “Good God.” It’s just a habit, I guess.
