Book ten: Train by Pete Dexter

The first book recommended by the ole husband was very good, and since it involved golf I found that a rather pleasant surprise. Train is a young black caddie in the 1950s. There is a weird affect used in the narrative that was a bit annoying in the beginning but my brain eventually accepted. Before this happened, though, I was constantly adding the proper endings and adding or subtracting words to make the sentence read correctly.

Excerpt 1:

The tree cutters showed up four days late in a prewar Chevy pickup with the words TREE STIRGEONS hand-painted on the sides. Train went out to watch; thought it couldn't hurt to learn how a person was supposed to take down a tree. It look like the first step was, you sat for a while in the shade of the tree itself and passed around some reefer.

Excerpt 2:

"He runs the Cassidy crime family. Little people with enormous heads, every one of them. And they've all been shot in the head, and they never die. They believe it's the luck of the Irish - they walk around thinking they were all born lucky - and it never occurred to any of them yet that if they were that fucking lucky, they wouldn't keep getting shot."

10 down, 16 to go.