TerryS1950 posted:

He moved with no grace, no swiftness, but he moved, and for one in such
condition, this was a thing for which he felt blessed. The corzappa wounds on
the back of his neck and across his forehead were throbbing and the swelling
had prevented him from moving for more than two days now.  Feeling was
returning to his shooting hand. He grunted and wheezed, wheezed and
grunted, and grunted some more. He was watching the approaching scraggly
form of the dog -- who would be the meal?, he asked himself: the fallen
El Dupree or this mongrel.  The dog lifted the edge of its black lip showing
yellow, rotting teeth. El Dupree lifted the edge of his own blackened lip and
showed his own yellow, rotting teeth.  "Come to me, muchacho,"  said
El Dupree while reaching into his waistband for ....