This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.
RULES:
Grab a book, any book.
Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
Find a snippet, short and sweet.
Post it
from Page 56 of:
Daughter of the Morning Star by Craig Johnson
I pounded again.
After a moment, I heard footsteps, and the door was snatched open by the same skinny guy I’d seen enter. He no longer wore the jacket with his name on it, but I took a leap of faith. “Jimmy Lane?”
He stared at me, and I had time to study the face on his oversize head, acne scarred with a withered Fu Manchu and limp dark hair that slithered over his shoulders. Oddly, his body parts were all oversize—not only his head but also his hands and feet—almost as if he’d been assembled from parts that didn’t quite match. He had the look of somebody who had taken a lot of questionable chances in life and had paid for every single one of them in spades.
I hadn’t thought it was a particularly difficult question but asked again, this time mixing it up in an attempt to jog something loose. “Lane, Jimmy Lane?”
