Tinkerton lowered his face and flicked a malfunctioning lighter and blew the right eye into the back of his skull.
or
Tinkerton tossed a piece of broken glass and sliced with a lucky toss through the neck of a streetwalking pigeon. “I hadn’t meant that,” he said. “I hadn’t meant that.”
or
Was it “wept” instead of “said.”
and
Tinkerton at war. He walked by a door and heard scratching. Scratch scratch then no scratch. In the distance he heard engines grow louder, lifts for home. He looked back and saw pigeons in the street, flocks of pigeons. And smoke.
or
Tinkerton slipped down a stony hill and his wife yelled down. “Tinkerton, are you okay?”
or
Tinkerton left high society for low on the thinnest of impulses: to make amends.
or
Tinkerton encountered an old love. He followed her. She ordered a drink. So did he. She said, “Oh my, is that you,Tinkerton?”
or
Tinkerton raised the rifle and fired and saw the doe fall like a short-sighted king. He fell to his knees at the body and said, “Oh, my friend. I meant it not.”
or
Tinkerton left the taxi. When he reached the bank teller, he found the appropriate papers not on his person and the first thing that came to his mind was that he’d forgot to feed the dog.
or
Tinkerton stepped back and listened to the cheering crowd. It had been his best note-strike. The closer had killed. One man kept clapping when all the others had stopped. His father. His mother had told him he’d died years ago.
or
Tinkerton entered the kitchen after work and found a note. It said, “Tinkerton, my feet hurt. I’ve been walking so far.”
or
Tinkerton suddenly found he couldn’t swallow. All those years of swallowing. Now the sudden inability to swallow was like a revelation, a discovery, equivalent of the appearance of life on Mars.
and
Tinkerton stumbled to the phone to call someone. But he couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember. Fans of numbers and fans of numbers and none to remember and none to remember.
or
Tinkerton with friends. Zelda orders something orange. Edgar something white. Liz threw up her arms when she saw Quinn come in with a squirrel on his arm. “He’s such a show off,” she said.
and/or
Tinkerton smothered two eggs, one in each big hand. One egg weighed more than the other. Tinkerton had always felt somewhat sore at the unfairness of his hands.
or
Tinkerston’s drink came last. He adjusted his eye patch, gave the leather of it two taps. Tap tap. By the time he took a first sip, Quinn had left with the squirrel, his memory had returned, and he asked Liz, “Do you think I’ll ever make amends?”
and
Liz said with a grin, “No.”
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