George and Lennie feeling the squeeze

With profound apologies to the ghost of John Steinbeck, I offer the following –

A few miles south of Lucedale, Miss., two dusty travelers pause by the roadside. Both are dressed in denim trousers and denim coats with brass buttons. Both wear black, shapeless hats and carry tight blanket rolls slung over their shoulders. The first man is small and quick, dark of face, with restless eyes and sharp, strong features. Every part of him is defined: small, strong hands, slender arms, a thin and bony nose. Behind him stands his opposite, a huge man, shapeless of face, with large, pale eyes and wide, sloping shoulders. He walks heavily, dragging his feet a little, the way a bear drags his paws.

George Clinton (Photo credit: Burns!)

The first man takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his greasy black hair.

“I’m beat. Let’s rest here by the side of the road awhile, Lennie.”

His companion mumbles assent and the two flop down on a low bank. The first man spies a discarded newspaper on the ground and absent-mindedly picks it up.

“Whatcha doin’, George?” asks his companion, eyeing the smudged paper curiously.

“What’s it look like I’m doin’, you dumb ox,” the first man growls. “I’m readin’ this …

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