THEY SHOOT HORSES, DON’T THEY?
By Horace McCoy
IT WAS FUNNY THE way I met Gloria. She was trying to get into picturestoo, but I didn’t know that until later. I was walking down Melrose one dayfrom the Paramount studios when I heard somebody hollering, ‘Hey! Hey!’and I turned around and there she was running towards me and waving. Istopped, waving back. When she got up to me she was all out of breath andexcited and I saw I didn’t know her.‘Damn that bus,’ she said.I looked around and there was the bus half a block down the street goingtowards Western.‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I thought you were waving at me …’‘What would I be waving at you for?’ she asked.I laughed. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘You going my way?’‘I may as well walk on down to Western,’ she said; and we began towalk on down towards Western.That was how it all started and it seems very strange to me now. I don’tunderstand it at all. I’ve thought and thought and still I don’t understand it.This wasn’t murder. I try to do somebody a favour and I wind up gettingmyself killed.
They are going to kill
I know exactly what the judge is going to say. I can tell by the look of him that he is
oing to be glad to say it and I can tell by the feel of the people behind me that they are going to be glad to hear him say it.