Quotation
He was tall and thin. Maybe six feet two. Maybe a hundred sixty pounds. But only if he had a dollar’s worth of pennies in his pocket. All skin and bone, and awkward as a stepladder.
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I could rip your arm off and beat you to death with it, and they wouldn’t stop me. They’d sell tickets instead.
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From time to time trucks would pass the bus, slowly, sometimes spending a whole minute alongside, edging ahead imperceptibly. Reacher was eye to eye with their drivers, across their empty cabs. Old men, all of them.
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“The Incredible Hulk? I thought I was Bigfoot. These guys need to make up their minds.”
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About sixty miles from here. Maybe seventy. That’s about two blocks away, by Wyoming standards.