Sunday, 31 May 2015
My name is Matt and i'm an alcoholic. A woman i know got killed last night. She hired me to keep her from getting killed and i wound up assuring her that she was safe and she believed me. And her killer conned me, and i believed him, and she's dead now and there's nothing that i can do about it. And it eats me and i don't know what to do about that, and there's a bar on every corner and a liquor store on every block, and drinking won't bring her back to life but neither will staying sober, and why the hell do i have to go through this. Why ?
Eight Million Ways to Die
Saturday, 30 May 2015
Sunday, 24 May 2015
Stay in this business long enough and every street leads to a place you'd like to forget. Every case brings back memories of what you should have done and what might have been. And every skirt reminds you of another woman. Or, if you've got it bad enough, the same woman.
Friday, 22 May 2015
I didn't mind what she called me, what anybody called me. But this was the room i had to live in, it was all i had in the way of a home. In it was everything that was mine, that had any association for me, any past, anything that took the place of a family. Not much ; a few books, pictures, radio, chessmen, old letters. Stuff like that. Nothing. Such as they were. They had all my memories.
The Big Sleep
reblogged via thenocturnalfew.tumblr.com