The Drip, a novel by Michael Gullo
That Yankee think he take my son, give him mor’n I got to give, and he all sudden that boy’s Deddy? Not my boy. My boy got loyalty. “Hear that, boy, you loyal.”
All my days live in this valley, and I earn it too. I earn it come up way we all come up – never live above my raisin’ put on airs, I pay my due. That Yankee come up here, put a toilet down the mud, roll off his draws and think he fit in now. Him read the Wall Street Journal though, can’t keep true and read the Sears Robuck. “Boy, you ain’t funnin’ me, is you? That man got a shitter in the sun?”
“Nope, Deddy. Ain’t funnin’. He say he gotta do it. Gotta fit in.”
Got no boy his own, he think he take mine. Not Cody. Cody loyal like I say. Cody look and listen, and that boy come home tell me all he see. Threaten my boy. Who you think you is? Now you gonna pay, we git the holler back, you go stay with Pedro, nuther big deal think he come here and take, take, take, gotta make ever accommodation juss so’s you feel at home. “Boy come out on this porch and tell me what he say.”
“Deddy, I’m fish this caulk bead, ain’t easy. That man right. This set out in the freeze too long.”
“Don’t help you got no gun, squeeze it out with a stick. That man lazy. Slick soles tell it all. Tell you throw that out, ain’t no good.” Come up here with they black magic trucks and they big money ways, tell a man waste what make him want not right here and now.”
“Think that got her, Deddy.”
“That got her. Tell me again what he say why he put them papers on you. He say he don’t want sit in the skid steer make out paychecks, so he force you make yer own. Tell me how he say that about the overtime. He can’t refuse pay you overtime. That’s a new crime right there.”