From Jim Thompson’s novel, Pop. 1280 after the protagonist almost get hanged by an angry mob for rape
I figure sometimes that maybe that’s why we don’t make as much progress as other parts of the nation. People lose so much time from their jobs in lynching other people, and they spend so much money on rope and kerosene and getting likkered up in advance, and other essentials, that there ain’t an awful lot of money or man-hours left for practical purposes.
I just finished The Grifters by Jim Thompson, one of the best hard-boiled crime dramas I’ve ever read. Told entirely in the first person, it’s the dark and evil story of crooks, marks and no innocence whatsoever. Notable in it’s absence is any objective description (well, there’s almost none). Almost no “it was raining”, “the night was cloudy”, etc. Lots of impressions, feelings and lies, but no independent reality.