How do we count when the trees are many? We ride above them in a helicopter, and shoot them. Count your bullets, and divide by thirty, ’cause you’re a lousy shot, and that’s the ticket right there. And take off that hat, you look like a goddamn fool.
My great-uncle taught me that there were no stars, only silver buttons in the carpet up above. I killed my great-uncle, with a spoon.
If you thought there was more to this, you were off the mark, my friend. Real bad. Real gone.
