More than 55, but a lot shorter than the original dialogue. A little piece from Tap Dancing at the County Fair.
Earl waved from his post next to an old charcoal grill in the backyard. He was tending something and flipped it over carefully. “Squirrel.”
Becca gulped and nodded. Reba came out the back door to watch: “Earl, you eat the brains?”
“Well, you might just better want to watch it now. Squirrel brains is what makes folks go crazy. That’s what my momma says. Daddy was outright crazy, and Momma said it was from eating squirrel brains. He’d go out hunting and drinking, come home with a big bag full. We’d get the meat, but Daddy always got the brains.
“Momma was a saint to put up with him, I’ll tell you that. When Daddy died, people came up to her, told her how sorry they were. Momma thanked them – but she never once said she was sorry herself. Never once cried.
“I think if people knew the truth, they’d have realized that living without Daddy had a whole lot of good fixed to it that living with him sure didn’t.
“I’m not saying it was just the brains, you know? But I’ll bet they helped. And sometimes it’s the tiniest little thing that pushes someone over the edge, you know?
So just think about eating them brains. That’s all.”
Earl had fastened his gaze on Reba the whole time she spoke. He flipped the squirrel one more time. It was almost ready.
But he thought he’d pass on the brains this time. Just in case Reba was right.