Here's an excerpt for you kiddies:
Before the crowd that had gathered outside Mr. Sullivan’s house lay not the plump body of a sixty eight year old man in repose, starring up at a benevolent afternoon sky from the comfort of his thick blue grass, the way maybe a man his age should have gone and in fact prepares in such ways to go. Rather they saw the small fly stuck piles of red mush that had all but lost its humanity with the exception of a pair of legs in velour lounge pants splayed in the grass. Mr. Sullivan’s knobby old man knees. Mr. Sullivan’s dry bare feet. The newspaper in its blood spattered plastic bag.