Both were quiet as Colter climbed off of Mathew, still holding the trapped spider

“You’re not going to say anything about this, are you?” Mathew said.

“No, probably not,” Colter said.

“ I mean it, Colter.  You’d better not breathe a word of this,” Ryan said.

“Sneeds, you boys need to remember your manners,” Colter said.  “So long as you do, your secret remains with me.”


In a plaque hanging above the men’s urinal at the Beaver’s Hole, there’s a picture of a red-nosed bum, sitting with a beer in each hand, belly hanging over his pants waist, with the words, “My head hurts.  My feet stink.  And I don’t love Jesus,” printed beneath.  It was clear the bum’s state was what arrived him to the point where he sat.  Though clearly meant to be comical, this little decal seems to have caused a bit of a stir.  Following the trial, someone had scrawled ‘Sneed,’ across the bum’s ass.

Colter Wayne Hobbes