Dreams and Survival

I wasn’t doin’ nothing bad with it, George. Jus’ strokin’ it.

She had full, rouged lips and wide–spaced eyes, heavily made up. Her fingernails were red. Her hair hung in little rolled clusters, like sausages.

And these shelves were loaded with little articles, soap and talcum powder, razors and those Western magazines ranch men love to read and scoff at and secretly believe.

in and out of the beam flies shot like rushing stars.

He’s my … cousin. I told his old lady I’d take care of him. He got kicked in the head by a horse when he was a kid.

“Well, you ain’t bein’ kind to him keepin’ him alive,” said Carlson. “Look, Slim’s bitch got a litter right now. I bet Slim would give you one of them pups to raise up, wouldn’t you, Slim?”

Suddenly Lennie appeared out of the brush, and he came as silently as a creeping bear moves.

George came quietly out of the brush and the rabbit scuttled back into Lennie’s brain.

The deep green pool of the Salinas River was still in the late afternoon. Already the sun had left the valley to go climbing up the slopes of the Gabilan mountains, and the hilltops were rosy in the sun.

Evening of a hot day started the little wind to moving among the leaves.