Wednesday, July 18, 2007


A telephone-bell rang in a belted green crepe silk dress, opened the door, did not look at the pistol. He raises his arms for half an hour in his bedroom that was a living-room now the wall was huddled in the armchair by the forearms. Spade returned to the beginning day and sat on the end of the long thin smokiness. The Belvedere Divan reduced the night to a Fat Man. Gutman opened the door carrying Spade with his arms around the outer door. His eyes were motionless under a deep red forehead. The telephone protruded loosely, pouting. The table staring with uneasy eyes into the telephone directory. The shortest farewells are a lie.

(having fun with Dashiel Hammett)


Blogger M. Shibek said...

Thanks for saying hi. Might we know each other from other forums? I'm attempting to add a link to your blog. Cheers, shibek

11:02 PM  

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