it's two years old
“There isn’t any gold left. There wasn’t much to start with…but there in the hills there’s plenty of dirt. Lord knows we’ve turned over every inch of it…the world is full of it…dirt and stone and dust…we’re out numbered you know…cleanliness is a common courtesy, but we’re never very far from being conquered, never very far from the filth. I should know, I spent my life in those hills…body beneath there, felt the earth slip between the cracks of my skin, course its way through my body, into the blood, to my heart. It’s in me now. And that’s ok, I has to be. But there’s no use going up there, young man, those hills are dead. As dead as they’ve ever been. Nothin’s brining them back. Not you, your hope, your shovel, your dreams. That’s what it is. It has been. I has to be. Investment or not, it’ll stay the way it was when you got here. Some things are, as they say, dead on arrival, oh sure you can try…but some things ain’t never comin’ back.”
He was weathered. He bent his head, with his hands deep in his pickets so his shoulders pinched together and slumped. He spit. “That about does it.” He looked at the young man, swung his leg, kicking a small clump of dirt, and walked away.
He was weathered. He bent his head, with his hands deep in his pickets so his shoulders pinched together and slumped. He spit. “That about does it.” He looked at the young man, swung his leg, kicking a small clump of dirt, and walked away.