There ain’t no God. An’ if there is one, He’s a mean bastard, an’ I’ll spit on His face when I die.

Where was He when the tornado tore through my house, taking Katie and the baby with it? Where was He when the crops withered an’ the earth turned to black dust? Where was He when I stood in front of the bank manager, twisting my cap in my hands, an’ that smarmy son of a bitch took my pa’s land from me?

It ain’t no way to live when you move from place to place, begging for charity or the lowest farmhand job, an’ every swindler and lying cheat is waiting to bleed you dry. No respectable woman will look at you twice.

So, I stole, an’ I ended up in The Walls. At least I know what to expect here.

Outside, there ain’t no aid for a man cursed by God.

Match the story (and the number) to the face at Mirrors.

%d bloggers like this: