Oz Skaggs met muddy Dorothy under the house, cradle-crying over a bright squirrel. They couldn't talk much: the monkeys came, bearing soda, mud, and avocados for their tin baby.
"We were always sweethearts," Oz Skaggs said, "Breakdown dead ahead. Look what you've done to me, lowdown, Miss Sun."
Dorothy couldn't speak. It was so hard, so hard to speak from the cradle, especially against the mobile. Did he understand that? Did he understand that?
Br'er squirrel didn't lift his paw to change a thing, or stop any motion, even to play dead, since he was dead. Meanwhile, Tin-Baby had to spitshine himself.
I don't know how we got here. The tears are like stew fanned out cold.