T.R. Pearson's second novel begins, "That was the summer we lost the bald Jeeter who was not even mostly Jeeter anymore but was probably mostly Throckmorton or anyway was probably considered mostly Throckmorton which was an appreciable step up from being considered mostly Jeeter since Jeeters hadn't ever been anything much while Throckmortons had in fact been something once . . ." This opening sentence runs on for 353 more words.
To his credit, Pearson gives fair warning that his story is going to take some time in the unraveling and may indeed be more fun for the teller than the...
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