It Rains On Our Love
A man in a cheap suit and fedora drinks from a birdbath fountain at night, surrounded by shadow and void. Out of the darkness comes a rush of bodies running to catch a departing train. They whip and pummel the man, pinballing him from person to person, knocking him to the ground and spilling his sole possession - a bag of apples - outward like a billiards break.
excerpt from
A Portrait of the Artist as a Noir Fan -
(Ingmar Bergman)
Travis Woods
reblogged from Bright Wall/Dark Room
A Ship to India
Port of Call
High Tension (This Can't Happen Here)
Prison
Crisis
Torment
https://www.brightwalldarkroom.com/2018/11/19/it-rains-on-our-love-1946/
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