
Dud was especially quiet this morning, sitting in his usual seat at the philosophy counter of the Mule Barn truck stop. He was doodling with his napkin and a feed store ball-point pen.
Doc looked over to see if he could make it out. He couldn’t. Bert adjusted his glasses and looked over.
“Murder?” said Bert.
“What?”
“You wrote murder on the napkin,” Bert said. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Naw,” Dud said, blushing a bit. “It’s my book, that’s all.”
“Still having trouble trying to figure it out?” Doc said, kindly.
“The publishing company suggests I outline it first to kinda get to know where everything goes before rewriting it this time. And you know what they said about the murders…”
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