Status Updates From Suttree

"He could head it caroming about,"

The ragman laboring up beneath the mound of ripe bedding in which he had entombed himself for sleep looked like a melted candle. He sat cowled and scowling out upon the new day. A draft of dank air went among his silken chinwhiskers and a faint miasma rose off of him like heat from a summer road. -- C.M.

"What time is it Daddy? Four nineteen. Well. Stop again when you can stay longer. I'll do it, said the railroader. And don't forget to save me some of that there pitch if you've got it to spare. Okay. I allowed ye'd gone under when I didn't see ye on the river. No. Well. He watched the old man go across the steaming fields, tottering stiffly in his overalls."

“Uneasy sleeper you will live to see the city of your birth pulled down to the last stone.”

I just fell asleep a minute. I was resting. The priest gave a little smile, lightly touched with censure, remonstrance gentled. God's house is not exactly the place to take a nap, he said. It's not God's house. I beg your pardon? It's not God's house. Oh? Suttree waved his hand vaguely and stepped past the priest and went down the aisle. The priest watched him. He smiled sadly, but a smile for that. -- C.M.