I love the crisp blackness of a country morning, the snake-like roads here and why the killers chose it as their burial ground, the farmers don't care what their hogs eat, if those people were in debt, it's not their problem, they are paid nicely and the hogs don't care, they can chew through bone, digest clothing and wiring in a bra, the workers prepare them, even though they don't have to, the hogs can do it, a big Sow will cannibalize her own piglets, she'll eat a dead body.
I don't speak fluently, I don't speak much at all to be honest, but if you behead someone near me and we are associates, I might pen a vague blog about it, but we're cool. I don't care if people die, there are people who own the mansion, others are the dollmakers and some simply are wild, feral things that doesn't fit in anywhere and are everything people think they are, the cookers, the "Eli people" as I call them, all exist under the same canopy of the South that covers the entire world, you should see it, it's beautiful here in the mornings.