Now, don't get me wrong, I love carnies. Me 'n carnies, we go way back. Used to be one, if we're gonna get all technical about it. Every so often I'll hitch a ride and help out for a few stops. Nothin' fancy, but pay's good and it keeps the cops off your back in a pinch. Usually we all get along just fine.
This time, though. These carnies were different. Goddamn sumbitches had some academic with them. There's rules, and then there's rules, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit around while some pleather-faced city boy outsider pokes his nose where it don't belong.
So one night, we're all sittin' around, got a big fire goin' just outside of camp and he sidles up to me all friendly-like, starts askin' all these questions. What's your name, what's your story, tell me a bit about yourself, I'm intrigued he says.
Alright, doctor pleather, I'll bite. "Well," I says, "my momma was a woman of ill-repute, road's all I've ever known. Didn't get no schoolin' or nothin', not like you got." And I bat my eyelashes real pretty at him, take a sip of my beer. "Guess it's just one of those things."
Fascinating, he calls me. Fascinating my ass. I bullshit him a bit more, and then I say to him, "But maybe we should take this somewhere a bit more…private."
Damn fool plays right into it. So we head off to the fringes of things, just where I like it best, and he gets to talkin' 'bout himself. Says he's writing a book, some noir pulp thing or something. I dunno, I wasn't paying that much attention. The sky is pretty tonight, stars all bright and shiny. He tilts his head up and I make my move—my knife slides into his neck smooth as butter, quick 'n easy, and he drops like a puppet with its strings got cut.
Fuckin' city boys all so soft.