I have just finished reading the Cormac McCarthy novel 'Blood Meridian' and was struck by a passage that seemed to be lifted straight from the text of the
Samuel Beckett play 'Waiting for Godot':
Enter Pozzo and Lucky. Pozzo drives Lucky by means of a rope passed round his neck, so that Lucky is the first to enter, followed by the rope which is long enough to let him reach the middle of the stage before Pozzo appears. Lucky carries a heavy bag, a folding stool, a picnic basket and a greatcoat, Pozzo a whip
He appeared upon the rise and paused momentarily before starting down, he and his drooling manciple. The ground before him was drifted and rolling and although
it could be fairly reconnoitred from the rise the judge did not scan the country nor did he seem to miss the fugitives from his
purview. He descended the ridge and started across the flats, the idiot before him on a leather lead. He carried the two rifles
that had belonged to Brown and he wore pair of canteens crossed upon his chest and he carried a powderhorn and flask and
his portmanteau and a canvas rucksack that must have belonged to Brown also. More strangely he carried a parasol made from
rotted scraps of hide stretched over a framework of rib bones bound with trip of tug. The handle had been the foreleg of some
creature and the judge approaching was clothed in little more than confetti so rent was his costume to accommodate his figure.
Bearing before him the morbid umbrella with the idiot in its rawhide collar pulling at the lead he seemed some degenerate entrepreneur
fleeing from a medicine show and the outrage of the citizens who'd sacked it
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