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Example text
I'm sure Fess meant all this at the moment, but in truth I'd just heard my first line of Hollywood bull and had failed to recognize it. In the many months of many years I spent out there, dozens of producers, directors, and just plain "script-packers" would lay this sort of thing on me. No bother. It's all part of the great poker game of illusion. Fess got the writer who had done most of the Davy Crockett scripts, Tom Blackburn, to do a screenplay on The Rounders. Then Fess pulled off a miracle and later let it all slip away.
One hip was hanging about two inches lower than the other and my knee joints was just plain locked solid. I was hoping Old Fooler was in the same condition. " "Ain't no use ruinin' a good ax," Wrangler said, reaching into the oven and pulling out a pan of brown hot biscuits. "Maybe you're right," I said, pouring me some coffee in a big tin cup. I finally got settled down at the old splintery table and washed about a quart of coffee down my gullet. It limbered me up enough so I could slice off a chunk or two of sowbelly and eat about two thirds of them biscuits.
Another key step on the road to The Rounders had been taken. About this time I, my parents, and Glenda, my baby sister, were moving to the ranch and oil town of Andrews, Texas. When everything was settled in, I talked my parents into letting me go to Lamy, New Mexico, a tiny village a few miles south of Santa Fe, in search of my Uncle Slim. He was supposed to be in that area. I promised to return to Andrews in the fall for school. It was a long bus ride to Lamy, over dirt and dippy gravel highways, but I could see the mountains ahead.
