Dock-tailed and white-eyed, the aged collie barked at a boy’s approach. The boy halted and then crept on in silence. Her cloudy gaze remained fixed. Twenty paces down he turned and watched the blind animal still shouting threats at that vacated point. He stood dumb, impressed. Something caught his eye in the rear of Train Man’s house. It was a dark figure swinging a large hammer in the perpetual motion of an oil derrick, and from that ceaseless striking of steel on steel emanated a violence so general it seemed part of the air.
Continue reading “Shinmiyangyo, 1971 by Samuel T. Hake.”
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