Scalawag and the Devil

Sleep is like the devil, always lurking in the dark. His grandmother said odd cursive things that caused him no end of discommode. Her eyes were dark as soot, her teeth cut like rake tines rusted through to the handrail, even when she spoke in a soft whisper it came out like a scream, ‘scalawag’, she said; ‘you’re just the sort of young man that’ll break an old woman’s heart, in two, by dammitt, two, two, two…’ He poached a handful of pickles, the ferment of dill-weed and allspice, and slid like a rattle out the back door, his hat pushed up cinched between his arm and scapula. ‘Back-bone’ he said, ‘right up there where the tendons knot with the U-joint, scalawag, by dammitt, and in twos…!’