Not sure Pat if this is what you wanted but I had a try:
To abandon Mobile at dawn without telling anybody, Bruce knew a jumper who got a hand job on a crab boat where she made five hundred dollars a day. Bruce was divorced and I’d never been married, we planned to sell our cars and buy an olive drab Ford four-wheel-drive pickup fill it full of sharp green pinecones you could sell those suckers for five bucks apiece in New England.
They’re crazy, he said.
Driving through Georgia and Tennessee, we’d look for tent revivals we found a good one. Bruce would fake heart disease and I’d be an alcoholic— I’d have to belch and stumble and splash on rum like aftershave. we had the whole congregation praying for us. the ushers passed the buckets for donation, we’d say we were flat broke, Homeless.
Bruce had stolen his ex-wife’s Polaroid camera, we’d keep for making pictures—hawks on posts, grizzly bears, church marquees We’d have books-on-tape from the public library, J Gris, S Kin, and self-help. In the Badlands of South Dakota, we pulled off the road to sleep in the back of the truck we’d play I prove Your Vocab tape, words like eclectic and satyr.
The original text:
Alaska by Tom Franklin (an excerpt)
© by Tom Franklin. From the collection Poachers.
Our aim was this: Alaska.
To abandon Mobile at dawn without telling anybody, not even our girlfriends or our boss at the plant. Bruce knew a bail jumper who got a deckhand job on a crab boat off the Alaskan coast where she made five hundred dollars a day. Bruce was divorced for the third time and I’d never been married, so we planned to sell our cars and Bruce’s house trailer and buy an olive drab Ford four-wheel-drive pickup with a camper, fill it full of those sharp green pinecones hard as hand grenades. Bruce’d heard you could sell those suckers for five bucks apiece in New England.
They’re crazy up there, he said.
Driving through Georgia and Tennessee, we’d look for tent revivals where they had faith healing. If we found a good one we’d stop and visit a service. Bruce would fake heart disease and I’d be an alcoholic—to make it convincing, he said, I’d have to belch and stumble and splash on rum like aftershave. He would grimace, moan, and clutch his left arm, until we had the whole congregation praying for us. When the ushers passed the KFC buckets for donation, we’d shrug and say we were flat broke, just poor travelers. Homeless.
Bruce had stolen his second ex-wife’s Polaroid camera, which we’d keep handy for making pictures—hawks on fenceposts, grizzly bears, church marquees that said THE LORD IS COMING SOON, then right under that BINGO 8:00 EVERY TUESDAY. We’d have a stack of books-on-tape from the public library, too: John Grisham, Stephen King, and even self-help. In the Badlands of South Dakota, when we pulled off the road to sleep in the back of the truck with our feet sticking out, we’d play an Improve Your Vocabulary tape, learn words like eclectic and satyr.
Subtracted for: https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/02/01/whiteout-wednesdays1/
Morpethroad 
Tale Weaver #105: The Dark Side 02.02.17 – The Dark Side Shop
The Dark Side Shop was open as I wandered by. It was just on midnight and the aisles were crowded with folk all looking for the one thing to set off their dark night and their dark desires.
There was the usual array of scary and ghostly, all the aids you’d need to work up a good neighbourhood scare especially at Halloween.
But for the serious dark side enthusiasts it was out the back and down in the basement that the really good stuff could be found. All the components of the dark side, the black magic buffs congregated here as did the perverse followers of the brindle magic and in the far corner the one or two brave souls who studied the purple magic.
You thought the dark magic was bad you haven’t seen anything until you delve into the purple magic.
In the back corner of the basement behind a purple curtain and guarded by large and savage dogs is the pit of purple magic. In here lie the grey orange slime dwellers expert at the hoax, with incredible powers to deceive and manipulate the innocent. Once they have you in their grasp you are as good as dead. They are known in the dark magic world as trumps. Grown men have been known to have their bits shrivel beyond recognition, their manhood a distant memory, their hands and backbones shrunken and the will to live taken away once the trumps have infiltrated their being.
With black magic you know what you are getting, it is consistent magic evil at all times but in the pit of the purple magic the trumps can appear in all innocence, agreeable, considerate and even reasonable but you know they are setting you up for their evil intent to ride rough shod over you, laugh in your face at your gullibility and worst of all care little what happens to you in fact if you are really unlucky and fall into the pit you become their dinner as they never give back unless you consider your excreted remains added to the grey orange slime as a sign of giving back. Rather you become part of the mire they wallow in as they delight in all they have achieved and await the next poor soul to be swayed by them.
So it is with good reason that Arthur Sanders warns all who go there of the potential dangers of what lies beyond the purple curtains masking the purple pit. He has tried many times to expunge the purple pit and the trumps but like a virus they mutate into more hideous creatures at every manifestation.
So tonight I bid farewell to Arthur with a small bag of black magic beans the perfect aphrodisiac for a prefect night at home.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/02/tale-weaver-105-the-dark-side-02-02-17/