Pete

— “Where’s Pete?” Pearce asked him. / “Pete?” Shortarse’s mouth stretched and slackened and stretched again. You couldn’t tell if he’d just stubbed his toe, or if he was about to burst into hysterical laughter. / “How many Petes you got working here?” / Shortarse shrugged. […] “Thompson,” Pearce said with his eyes closed. “Thompson,” he said again. He opened his eyes and stared. “I’d like to see Pete Thompson.”

— Was the dark of the moon on the sixth of June In a Kenworth pullin' logs. Cab-over Pete with a reefer on And a Jimmy haulin' hogs.