[時事閒聊] quick and disjointed to catch

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“Sorry—,” I began, but his face was already back in the beans.

I didn’t want to bug Caballo with questions just yet, even though listening to him was likewatching an art-house film in fast forward; traumas, jokes, fantasies, flashbacks, grudges, guiltover grudges, tantalizing fragments of ancient wisdom—they all came calliope-ing past in a blurtoo quick and disjointed to catch with her, he would sanction
everything at oncehe answered.. He’d tell a story, move on to the next, skip ahead to the third, goback and correct a detail in the first, gripe about the guy in the second, then apologize for gripingbecause, man, he’d spent his life trying to control his anger, and that was another storyaltogether….

His name was Micah True, he said, and he came from Colorado. Well, California, actually. And ifI really wanted to understand the Rarámuri, I should have been there when this ninety-five-yearoldman came hiking twenty-five miles over the mountain. Know why he could do it? Because noone ever told him he couldn’t. No one ever told him he oughta be off dying somewhere in an oldage home. You live up to your own expectations, man. Like when he named himself after his dog.

That’s where the name “True” really came from, his old dog. He didn’t always measure up to goodold True Dog, but that was another story, too….

I waited, scraping at the label of my beer bottle with a fingernail, wondering if he’d ever simmerdown enough for me to figure out what the hell he was talking about. Gradually, Caballo’sspoonwork slowed and came to a stop. He drained his second bottle of Tecate and sat back,satisfied.
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