Johnny, John, sometimes Joe. Came here from the west couple years back, from the City of Angels, LA. Ain't welcome no more. Slip of the finger, didn't mean it, but what's an apology worth? Quiet out here, but the work's honest. Ain't much food 'round these parts, but the crab breeding puts dinner on the plate, dollars in the pocket. That is, when the local critters ain't tearing the fuckers apart. Gotta lock 'em in the shack, else the Chupacabra get 'em. Never seem to bag one, fast those ones. Previous owner, never met 'im. Or maybe I did. Was that skeleton in the back him? Heat's a pain, so's the cold, but the peace is worth it. Sleep like a baby out here, pillow o' straw beneath my head, covers pulled tight, hymn of the cicada's like a lullaby. 12 gauge is nice, feels right, wood's held up, cleaned the barrel. Good for the rats, 'least I think they're rats, right? There's a mine not too far from here. Looks cool, probably where those thieves are comin' from though. Might have some stuff worth takin', might not. Looks older than my grandfather. Gonna go huntin' with dynamite tomorrow, bag one of them fuckers. Yeah. ... Who was I talkin' to again?