Status Updates From Suttree

Listen Sut. We're painted into a corner anyways. I mean what if we was to just call up and say he died? I mean hell fire, you caint fool them guys. Them guys is doctors. They take one look at him and know for a fact he's been dead six months. How does it smell in there? It smells fuckin awful. -- C.M.

Very solid so far. Lots of humor, which is sorta absent in McCarthy’s work.

Haven’t read like I was supposed to this past week because I’m a piece of shit. Oh well, better late than never.

A company of mutes were playing check at the rear table and some raised their hands in greeting. Suttree raised back, going to the washbasin for paper towels. One of the mutes gestured at him, carving words with a dexter hand in the smoky air. Suttree was drying his face. He thought he had the gist of it and nodded and formed words with his own fingers, puzzled, erased, began again. They nodded encouragement. -- C.M.