One March afternoon in 1969 I was on the deck of a Chinese junk listening to the water clop against the wooden hull and enjoying a breeze that blew toward the South China Sea. The junk bobbed ... [+]
Originally published in Alabama Noir
The men who live in the woods behind my house had been getting out of hand for some time. They were all in their mid-fifties, golfers formerly, and meat eaters -- jolly men in general -- but since their wives had sent them away to live in the woods they had become grumpy and discontent. At night they would bellow and howl. They want their televisions and ice-makers and chairs beside the vents. They live like animals now in badly made straw huts and eat anything that wanders too close to their turf. We know what's happening to our dogs and cats, but there's nothing we can do: some of these men