The unsophisticated determination of the red blooded redneck was not to be underestimated in its power to exhaust all verbal wit and fuel the blackest of moods. She didn't like heat, didn't like slapping at mosquitoes, or unimaginative, cock-driven boys.
Sweltering heat brought to bear again the piercing droning grind of the meat saw in the cutting room. It brought to bear the crude wants of late middle-aged men which were only vocalized under cover of the prevalent whining sound. Also goaded, a young, outstanding specimen of white trash shifted into a frolicking sort of desperation. Lest she should escape un-fianced, and far more pointedly, un-boned. She sidestepped, blocked, belittled, and undermined tiredly. Caught in the flow, she was as ready to spit on any knights errant as be rescued by them. The weather report was unpromising.
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