I struggled all afternoon on a 250 word piece for a class, rearranging sentences, exchanging words, reading aloud, deleting, starting over. First, not enough words, then too many. When this happens, it's best to click save and do something else, like, say, step in front of bus. Well, that's what I felt like doing, but I actually picked up my book and read, finding this wonderful gem--simple, honest, funny, raw and I love it. Forget all that lyrical prose. This is priceless and why I love reading YA fiction. It's not 250 words-only because I didn't feel like typing the whole thing- but I can't help but wonder, how long did it take?
That's the thing with drug addicts. They steal wheelchairs and hearing aids and walkers and canes and seeing-eye dogs, and I'm sure if Junior needed a fix that he would reach right into every one of those trailer-park old people and grab their pacemakers. Sam didn't understand this, so he just looked at me and repeated the question.
"I mean, who would steal a wheelchair?"
The Dust of 100 Dogs by A.S. King
It's turning out to be a very odd read, but when so many novels are the same blendarized puree, odd is great. Yes, I wrote blendarized. I'm weird that way.
