Smith Henderson (born January 3, 1954) is the recipient of the 2011 PEN Emerging Writers Award in fiction. He was a Philip Roth Resident in Creative Writing at Bucknell University, a Pushcart Prize winner, and a fellow at the Michener Center for Writers in Austin, Texas. Born and raised in Montana, he now lives in Portland, Oregon.
Fourth of July Creek (2014)
- He didn't eat or stop for gas. No radio. Like when you were a kid. The old man treated every road trip like a moon shot. You brought yoru grub for the trip or you went hungry. You held it or you pissed in the milk carton. Wasn't anything on the radio anyway. (p. 60).
- Is one woman all women, he asked himself. Do they know what they do to us. Do they try on cocks like shoes, and keep some of them and put back others.
- At this point, even Jesus and Satan just wish you’d choose a fucking side.
- Maybe it was the state of childhood to not question and fear everything, it’d been so long, Pete couldn’t remember.
- He hurt all over ... He thought he should just quit. The job or drinking or both.
- He drank coffee all morning just trying to wake up from an exhaustion that coffee could not fix. Fear had worn him to a nub. (p. 236).