He looking down With scorn or pity on the slippery state Of kings, will tread upon the neck of fate.

The slug they dug out of him was a .22. A woman's gun? Or was I being a sexist oinker?

The most interesting thing to the chicken fanciers—and the thirsty also—was an ice cream parlor in Morrison. Before we left […] the town ran short on all brands of beer (near, Root, etc.), and the thirsties of the crowd were reduced to the tamer pastime of eating oranges and cracking peanuts.

I said I don't think you can do it again. But he just bellylaughed and said I don't mean that.