I never realized how much I missed the lingo from my long ago Massachusetts youth than when I picked up the new novel' Rogue Island' by Bruce DeSilva. Here are the fire fighters at an arson based scorcher in Providence, Rhode Island:
"Y doan dey spray moah wahduh awn duh ruf?"
(Why don't they spray more water on the roof?)
"Dey orda". (They ought to.)
"Ats wut I bin sayin'." (That's what I've been saying.)
"Shut up, daboatayuz". (Shut up, the both of you.)
"Jeet yet?" (Did you eat yet??)
"Gnaw". (No.)
"We kin take my cah tuh Caserduz if I kin fine my kahkis."
(We can take my car to Caserta's if I can find my car keys.)
"Wicked pissa!" (A good idea.)
p. 31 "Rogue Island" by Bruce DeSilva
And a wonderful reason to either stay home or go home, from the same novel:
"I grew up here. I know the cops and robbers, the barbers and the bartenders, the judges and the hit men, the whores and the priests. I know the state legislature and the Mafia inside out, and they're pretty much the same thing. When I write about a politic an buying votes or a cop on the pad, the jaded citizenry just chuckles and shrugs its shoulders. That used to bother me. It doesn't anymore. Rogue Island is a theme park for investigative reporters. It never closes, and I can ride the roller coaster free all day."
p. 211 "Rogue Island" by Bruce DeSilva
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