I bought Dogwalker on June, 27, 2004 at 10:04 p.m. for $3.98. The cashier’s name was Eric, but I don’t remember him. I know this because, for some reason — I was probably using it as a bookmark — I kept the receipt.
To say Bradford’s stories were weird was an understatement. A man finds a mollusk in a glove compartment … a man gets cut in half by a train .. a man slices the face of a woman with a chainsaw and gets a date. Bradford was a hipster genius. His prose managed to be surreal and gritty, funny and terrifying all at once. He was an intrepid soul reporting back from the dark edges of America.
I kept waiting for the next collection from Bradford or, in the case of story writers who sign a two-book deal, a novel. But seven years later, I’m still waiting. Which is fine. I’m sure whenever he does come out with a new collection, it will be worth the wait.
