They's Evils in People that Make Little if Any Sense...

Pip never showed.  Pat had to break the news to Stace, alone.  She sat on a love seat decorated with cigarette burns and cat hair.  She'd a muskrat mien, tear-swollen eyes and a body gouged by scabs.  She caught her breath and asked, "Why'd a person run over an innocent child?"  She paused, lost in an unfilled blank, ran her chicken-bone arm over her sunken complexion and said, "Toss them into the river just like they's a piece of trash."

Pat sat on the ratty sofa, trying to ignore the waft of unchanged cat litter, the stubbed-out smokes lining ashtrays, empty plastic cola bottles on their sides, and food-smeared dishes.  All he could muster was "They's evils in people that make little if any sense, and trying to figure them out does a person little to no good."

--Frank Bill, "Trespassing Between  Heaven and Hell," Crimes in Southern Indiana (2011)