George looked up from shoeing the horse to see the outline of Curley's wife in the doorway of the barn. They were alone. She batted her long lashes at him and cooed,
"George, I'm sure you as sharp as a tack, but you sure don't say much, do ya?"
He shifted his glance uneasily to the floor as he felt her getting closer.
"I don't want no trouble Ma'am."
"I just want to talk to you, George. It's hotter 'n a snakes ass in a wagon rut out there, and the barn is so cool and breezy. Tell me all about what makes a man like you tick."
"I said I don't want no trouble. Talkin' to you is like playin' with fire 'round here. You stroll in, fishing for compliments from a man who's just minding his business. Next thing I know, your loose cannon of a husband gon' come in here and get handy with me."
Curley's wife drew herself back, bewildered that George had just attacked her. She contemplated her response carefully, and said in barely more than a whisper,
"Beggars can't be choosers George. I am not in a position to be pickin' and choosin' who I am friendly with, so I figured you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, right? But apparently I am not entitled to even one friend. Every damn man on this ranch is afraid of Curley. Every damn one, and I pay the price."
