Dreams and Survival

"... I coulda made somethin' of myself." She said darkly, "Maybe I will yet."

You an’ me can get that little place, can’t we, George? You an’ me can go there an’ live nice, can’t we, George? Can’t we?

Coulda been in the movies, an’ had nice clothes—all them nice clothes like they wear. An’ I coulda sat in them big hotels, an’ had pitchers took of me.

Ever’body gonna be nice to you. Ain’t gonna be no more trouble. Nobody gonna hurt nobody nor steal from ’em.

Look acrost the river, Lennie, an’ I’ll tell you so you can almost see it.

"Tend rabbits," it said scornfully. "You crazy bastard. You ain’t fit to lick the boots of no rabbit. You’d forget ’em and let ’em go hungry. That’s what you’d do. An’ then what would George think?"

And then from out of Lennie’s head there came a little fat old woman. She wore thick bull’s–eye glasses and she wore a huge gingham apron with pockets, and she was starched and clean.

The red light dimmed on the coals.

The water is warm too, for it has slipped twinkling over the yellow sands in the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool.

A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green.