If All Else Fails Read Online Free PDF

grunted Aztol. "Boost shoes like common thief."
    "Well all same, I
had to-"
    "You disgrace," cut
in Aztol. "Going go to jail a disgrace for measly shoes look like overenlarged rabbit pellets
with grooves anyway. I ashamed to call you Indian. Gonna steal, boost truck of whiskey! What you
want known as, champion bird's-nest ransacker?"
    Stonecloud roll
back head and laugh kiff-fiff as it hits him like first false pregnancy of spring. Always a good
joke.
    Aztol scratch his
unwoven chin hair, eye Stonecloud try to grind giggle to halt.
    "You know you could
have moneys if wanted. From tour­ist," say Aztol, eye winking at himself in moderation. Aztol
smirked, effect knowing of this statement, smirked more even as he be self-freshening.
    Stonecloud leap
forward like liberated bosom bounce, news catching to face and sticking there like memory of
snout kick from unprincipled mule. He all sudden more eyes and ears than sixteen dancing monkeys
in the house of mirrors.
    "What? What?" he
shout, making frantic slot-machine motions with his chin.
    Aztol smug, smiled
like uncorked leper cutting loose from his first fallen finger. He look bored of whole thing. He
knuckle crack as an infuriation and pronounced delay of game.
    "What? What?"
Jumping up like flopped fish and enunci­ating like a yodeling moose echo, goes Stonecloud.
"What?" Aztol yawn and look like maybe he curl up and sleep. He stop act when Stonecloud look
like he going to go for jugular like smell of fish rising to ceiling. This all too solid
inevitable, and Aztol take a tuck in his intentions, having met the expe­rience they be aimed
for, finding as always, room for im­provement, as loving one's neighbor was same sandwich, but
pickle difference being on when husband get home. Aztol know how much market can take. He ease
off gracefully like senility in shock absorbers.
    "Tourist coming
today," quick says Aztol in self-deference. "Didn't you be knowing this?"
    Stonecloud bounce
shoes twice, only once touching ground. "Oh the horse!" he curse and he go like two truck-drivers
driving the same truck.
    "I think shoes
stink!" yells Aztol, but Stonecloud is mov­ing at twice the speed of leaf rustle in empty
swimming pool and is too far gone to hear.
     
    Stonecloud pounds
up to Tourist Center, gasping like carelessly calibrated alligator in vacuum. Sure as goats have
the smell of style that asks for distance, a ship was down. He run like possession, perhaps
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, the demon that got him. He runs on both legs and leaps through the
big doors like imitation of last sardine getting into can. He sees the green ones scattered all
around, most occupied, and he hears screams of guns and bark of the dying. He snatch gun from
wall brackets with lend-lease frenzy,
check if loaded, and race away to get tourist for all gone.
    He found her
standing in one of the tourist sun room. She look proper horrify when she see him come bounce
with gun. She even scream like soprano-air-raid siren. It is goose-bump delicious, he know. She
sink her scream to buzz-saw roar, very small horsepowers.
    He aim gun and
hesitate as always. The thrill of kill was in the shrill. He wait for full-lung expansion and
full eyepop and complete first parachute jump, no I-take-it-back syn­drome after you already too
far down to walk back up. She is ready. He is ready.
    He look at her
close. She short, maybe twenty hands high, green scale on body, sharp pointed fingers that made
good drink stirring rods, if proper dry. She got vents each side of face for breathing and air
conditioning, factory air. Other accessories, sharp bony ridge down center of narrow face, and
best, white-sidewall clenched knuckles. She regard him with two lidless headlight of
horror.
    He aim, thinking of
food, new clothes, all them women gonna snap tongue at him, and Philadelphia. He always have it
in for Philadelphia. The gun screamed its own lan­guage, the bullet hit her big culture