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FICTION Bully Boy's Shotgun Lottery_ Carl B. Jarrell DORSETT DROPPED THE BLAZER down into first and started up the last steep incline to the mine parking lot. The headlights shone upward on the mountain at a sixty-degree angle, illuminating the poplar, hickory and oak that held these ancient peaks together. After a slipping, sliding one hundred feet final climb (the Blazer in four-wheel drive), the headlight beams leveled off upon the four late model pickup trucks that crowded the small gravel parking lot. Dorsett backed the Blazer into a space directly opposite the inclined access road. Dorsett always showed up for work an hour and a half before the shift started: wanted to be darned sure he'd get a good space, even if he didn't do another darned thing all day long. Dorsett exited his Blazer, not bothering to lock it, with his lunch box and two Stanley thermos bottles of hot black coffee. He'd drink one bottle of the coffee before they went in, and the other bottle would be done before dinner. Dorsett believed in taking a lot of coffee breaks, even if they interfered with his production. He walked out into the yard (which was
Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press
Published: Jan 8, 2001
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