He was big . . . the biggest of the litter . . . big enough to wrestle bears, and he did, two, maybe more; but he killed many. When he woke up in that black inky night he couldn't see, thought he was blind, and had a massive hangover from his Daddy's Cherry Jump moonshine. A buzzard had died in his mouth and with it came rotten dog breath. A headache like someone had hit him with a pole axe made him feel like he was dead, dead as four-o'clock. And...
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