The story of the Chicken Ranch, in many ways, is one of obsession. Marvin Zindler pursues the great white brothel like a man possessed, and the town of La Grange is caught up in his pursuit through no fault of its own. At its heart, it's something of a tragedy, rife with symbolism. I believe the sheriff is the perfect viewpoint character for such an approach:
Call me Flournoy. Some years ago-- never mind how long precisely-- having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me at the jail, I thought I would drive about a little and see the seamier part of Fayette County. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before jail cells, and bringing up the rear of every criminal transfer; and especially whenever my deputies get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically shooting people's hats off-- then, I account it high time to get to the Chicken Ranch as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the brothel. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the whores with me.
As always, this is a work in progress. Feedback is always encouraged. In case you missed 'em, here are my previous installments:
Version 4
Version 3
Version 2
Version 1
Now Playing: Robert Plant Fate of Nations
Best one yet.
ReplyDeleteAgreed. Best one.
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