He said it was a word from God that my old man done got, he said. Shit. I don't think that his god or my god or anyone's god would go tellin' them to go stickin' a knife through someone in the livin' room right after they done eaten supper, and there ain't no way I'm gonna' believe that my old man hears voices from god or from anyone else, 'cause he sure don't hear my voice when I'm callin' out to him and needin' to talk to him and it been that way since I was a little kid. That fat old sonofabitch would sit there watchin' that shoppin' network on TV and drink malt liquors until he was drunk and pissin' hisself and he never listened to me no how. Shit.
So I stood there across the road from the containment facility listenin' to the pig noise and I thought it sounded like a hollerin' for life 'cause those pigs weren't gonna' get a whole hell of a lot older and soon they'd be sittin' on me or my old man's plate as a pile a' bacon or a slice of pit ham and then the hollerin' wouldn't make a whole hell of a lot of difference and a pig's just a pig like my crazy as shit old man done said.
After about an hour or two a' me sittin' on the roadside one a' them trucks pulled empty into the lot by the facility and I decided to just get walkin' back home. My old man would be dead drunk by now, pissed hisself in his pants and passed out. That truck would pull away full; I just went on home.