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“...he wasn’t much here any more at thirty-five.”

He had gone to sea at eighteen and had helped chase Sandino, one afternoon in Nicaragua, and now he wished to tell me more about Sierra La Valls. That was pretty little to grant a man, but I took sixes again and thought of him at forty. He'd only have one foot by then, if he was still around. In a way he wasn't much here any more at thirty-five. He too lay among the dead at Sierra La Valls. He'd keep on talking awhile, though, to whoever would listen, about that foggy morning at The Pimple. Then curtains. Game called, darkness.

- Nelson Algren, "Pero Venceremos" (from The Neon Wilderness)

November 3, 2017 in Books | Permalink