Why not? This is my time. I’m paying

This is bad. Does this man not know what a good Indian you are? “Please!”The man turns back to you, his face thoughtful.

being sexy doesn’t disgust you the way it does DarAnne. You’ve never been one of those guys. The star athlete or the cool kid.  It’s tempting to think of all those Tourist women wanting you like that, even if it is just in an Experience.

Bison roam in the distance. A hawk soars overhead

The first sensation is always smell. Sweetgrass and wood smoke and the rich loam of the northern plains. Even though it’s fake, receptors firing under the coaxing of a machine, you relax into the scents. You grew up in the desert, among people who appreciate cedar and pinon and red earth, but there’s still something home-like about this prairie place.

I just have to keep pushing it all down. There is no way back.

He was always leading. He was Ojibwe and he was my best friend.

we shot, I killed so many people

I hit. I hit. I hit her. I hit her so hard and I hated myself. I can never forgive myself. I left him in the fields. I drink, I push it down.

I went to war. We all went to war then, we went because we thought we had to. Warrior warrior warrior, the blood said, but when I left Byron behind in the jungle, I knew what I was. I knew then I was truly a coward.

25 cents a scalp and $5 a head

avant-garde of general readers appreciative of new sets of values.

the windows of its twelve stories glowing like those of a lighted cardboard house under a Christmas tree. All the actors and singers of the better class stayed there