開頭三分鐘

He was growing into middle age and was living then in a bungalow on Woodland Avenne…
He installed himself in a rocking chair and smoked a cigar down in the evenings…as his wife wiped her pink hands on an apron and reported happily on their two children.
His children knew his legs…the sting of his mustache against their cheeks.
They didn』t know their father made his living or why they so often moved.
They didn』t even know their father’s name.

He was listed in the city directory as 湯瑪士 Howard.And he went everywhere unrecognized…and lunched with 堪薩斯 City shopkeeper’s and merchants calling himself a cattieman or a commodities investor…someone rich and leisured who had the common touch.

He had two incompletely healed bullet holes in his chest and another in his thigh.
He was missing the nub of his left middle finger and was cautious, lest that mutilation be seen.

He also had a condition that was referred to as 「gramulated eyelids」, and it caused him to blink more than usual, as if he found creation slightly more than he could accept.

Rooms seemed hotter when he was in them.rains fell straighter.
Clocks slowed.
Sounds were amplified.
He considered himself a Southern loyalist and guerrilla in a Civil War that never ended.
He regnetted neither his robberies, nor the 17 murders that he laid claim to.

He had seen another summer under in 堪薩斯 City, Mussouri and on September 5th, in the year 1881, he was 34 years old.




開頭三分鐘真是需要大耐心。
音樂是nick cave的。
整了那個老頭的旁白，暫時先放這裡。