First Sentence

". . . . . If he had been born with a talent for brevity or even the ability to construct a simple cohesive sentence, he might now be turning his attention to a different contest, that would take him, if he won, to a good bar, an honest bar in an Italian city, that even as a boy he dreamed of seeing, where he could drink for free with other Americans and feel good, but that was not to be so, for like all men who had grown up in this part of the country where time was measured not in hours but in the length of a planting season his words flowed like a tangle of Spanish moss dragged through the swamp grass, dooming him or perhaps (as the Preacher Bailey would say) preparing him for this other competition, that would ask him to call upon all his pedantic talents and probably those of long departed family as well to secure a measure of fame and also those two free tickets that the airline company was offering, that he knew was bound to attract anyone who possessed either a fountain pen or a dream to be rid of hot"