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Show Blue Run/30 "How you been?" "Good." "The boy?" "Joey " "How is he?" "Good " "Sure is hot." "Not really." "You drawing more of them birds?" "What do you want?" "You back. Both of you" "You're impersonating a postman." He waved a letter, the way sombody'd wave a letter if inside it says they've got something real big on you. "Might be I really am the postman." Joey'd come to me, was in my lap chewing a pencil, looking at his daddy with his daddy's eyes. He said, "Mama?" It was 4:30 or so in the afternoon, the street empty for heat. My sketch pad showed Joey's crooked bird smile, how one side of his mouth opened further than the other, a trait he'd share with Jimmy, his half-brother Dee'd be home any minute, notebooks filled with numbers to add and subtract during pinto beans and cornbread. A way off past the river bridge, tall clouds were building for afternoon storms They roll through and then it clears-steam rising off the green grass. "How you think that makes me feel. Calling me a fake. I got a real letter here. For my flesh |