FINALLY! EXCERPT FROM: "THE LAST GREAT american NOVEL," (ch.3, mid-page)

THE FOLLOWING EXCERPT IS A FORMAL IN-PROCESS "EXCERPT" OF "THE LAST GREAT american NOVEL," BY JOSEPH R. REEVES.
ALL MATERIAL, CONTENT, AND RIGHTS ARE RESERVED SOLELY BY JOSEPH R. REEVES. ANY UNAUTHORIZED USE OF SUCH CONTENT OR MATERIAL IS GROUNDS FOR LEGAL PROSECUTION, AND IF I CAN FIND YOU, AN ASS WHOOPING AS WELL. DON'T FUCK WITH MY WORK.

EXCERPT FROM:
CHAPTER 3 OF "THE LAST GREAT american NOVEL,"
(MID-PAGE,NO CONTEXT PROVIDED)
IN PROCESS

...In long strides, and with clenched butt cheeks, I plodded through the patches of muddy grass that were littered with acorns in the same extent that our camper was littered with discarded ketchup packets. As I struggled lefthandedly with my keys to unlock the truck, and while clumsily clutching Dylans savvy black-canvas lawyer bag in my right hand- I looked up to the cloudless and only described as grey sky, in hopes to see some-sign of sun-shine, and while doing so, was just in perfect timing to catch a hefty bead of water directly in the eye. As if it were part of natures intended plan for Christsake.
“sonnova fucking bitch!” I angrily exclaimed as I slid into the truck seat and started the goddamn thing. All I could think, as I began to back down the severe incline, was how badly we all needed to get out of this freezing cold stink of a place, and get ourselves somewhere closer to perfect, and further from here. It was as if we were wandering among a rank cloud of depression and hopelessness, a smoggy haze of malcontent drear, mixed with an underlying scent of mis-placed dis-placement. You could smell it on our clothes- an imbedded musk suggesting that fear, doubt, and confusion might well be evasive hormones that perspire from a young mans sweat glands during specifically pivotal points in his life. A similar scent might be identified in a trembling sixteen year old’s introduction to the clitoris, a misunderstood nineteen year old being sent off to prison, a hardened twenty year old being sent off to war, or a promiscuous twenty two year old awaiting the results to an aids test.
Whatever the case may be, it is an unmistakable aroma, and one laced with the ornately embroidered expectations of everyone you’ve ever met, and everyone you will meet. Is it simply too much to ask, to want everyone to expect nothing more of you than to achieve real happiness?
I only loosely grasped the magnitude of the challenge we were facing at the time, but I’m sure it didn’t help either, that I was doing twenty over the speed limit and trying my best not to shit my pants. I pulled up to the holiday gas station parking at the nearest pump, and rushed through the aisles of brightly painted fat free snack cakes and organic slim-jim products that all were now all offering 33% more of something or another. What an odd number to use, I thought to myself as I nearly power-slid around the corner of canned spam walled oppositely to the caffeine free mountain dews. Rushing past the ever-rotating hot dog machine, and finally beyond the condiments we had been competing over who could get the most of- I finally crashed through the mens room door, just in the knick of time to plop down and…
(INSERT OVERLY DESCRIPTIVE SHIT EXPERIENCE)

* * *