Status Updates From Suttree

The old musty album with its foxed and crumbling paper seemed to breathe a reek of the vault, turning up one by one these dead faces with their wan and loveless gaze out toward the spinning world, masks of incertitude before the cold glass eye of the camera or recoiling before this celluloid immortality or faces simply staggered into gaga by sheer velocity of time... I am, I am. An artifact of a prior race. -- C.M.

The preacher had the man by the collar. He was sputtering and reeling about and he looked half crazy. The preacher steadied him by the forehead, intoning the baptismal service. Suttree rose and dusted the grass from his trousers. You aint fixin to leave are ye? The old man asked. I sure as hell am, said Suttree. [...] Suttree knew the river well already and he turned his back to these malingerers and went on. -- C.M.