Unreal City Tuesday, September 02, 2003

I knew I'd ruin it. From "The Glass Key":

He got his hat and coat and went to the front door. Long oyster-colored lines of rain slanted down into China Street. He smiled and addressed the rain under his breath: "Come down, you little darlings, thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars' worth of you."

I don't love Dash like I used to. He was a jerk, as was his girlfriend, and his style seems emptier now than it used to.

Walker, on the other hand, does not disappoint.

For some time now the impression has been growing upon me that everyone is dead.

It happens when I speak to people. In the middle of a sentence it will come over me: yes, beyond a doubt this is death. There is little to do but groan and make an excuse and slip away as quickly as one can. At such times it seems that the conversation is spoken by automatons who have no choice in what they say. I hear myself or someone else saying things like: "In my opinion the Russian people are a great people but--" or "Yes, what you say about the hypocrisy of the North is unquestionably true. However--" and I think to myself: this is death. Lately it is all I can do to carry on such everyday conversations, because my cheek has developed a tendency to twitch of its own accord.

The news business, in a nutshell.

Secret Things to attend to. More later.

@ 10:03:00 PM,

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