Sentences

Trotline Freddy rolled into the dirt lot of the Buckhorn Road Flea Market with a five-pack of Mickey's big mouths on the floorboard, three ferrets in a wire cage on the seat beside him, and a hundred and thirty-six dollars in his wallet, all in ones. Woodsmoke in the air cut the fresh chemical stench of the port-a-johns, and a single duck marked a tangent overhead with her steady, lonely bleating. It was the first cool day of the season, and it was going to be a good one.