Lady bartenders live a tougher life than anybody knows. -- Dancing Bear
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When I finally caught up with Abraham Trahearne, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball Roberts in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon.
James CrumleyStichwörter: first-sentence drinking
Maybe I will go to Paris.
Who knows? But I’ll sure as hell never
Go back to Texas again
An old drinking buddy of mine had come home from a two-week binge with a rose tattooed on his arm. Around the blossom was written Fuck ‘em all/and sleep till noon. His wife made him have it surgically removed, but she hated the scar even more. Every time he touched it, he grinned. Some years later she tried to remove the grin with a wine bottle, but she only knocked out a couple of teeth, which made the grin even more like a sneer. The part that I don’t understand, though, is that they are still married. He is still grinning and she is still hating it.
James CrumleyI have learned some things. Modern life is warfare without end: take no prisoners, leave no wounded, eat the dead--that's environmentally sound.
James Crumley...the sun rose each morning to stare into my face with the blank but touching gaze of a lovely retarded child.
James CrumleyStichwörter: hard-boiled
I had done either too much coke or too little, a constant problem in my life.
James CrumleyI knew the men were probably terrible people who whistled at pretty girls, treated their wives like servants, and voted for Nixon every chance they got, but as far as I was concerned, they beat the hell out of a Volvo-load of liberals for hard work and good times.
James CrumleyStichwörter: liberals real-men nixon hardboiled
I chuckled like Aldo Ray. If I had to endure his l'homme du monde act, he had to suffer my jaded alcoholic private eye.
James CrumleyStories are like snapshots, pictures snatched out of time, with clean hard edges. But this was life, and life always begins and ends in a bloody muddle, womb to tomb, just one big mess, a can of worms left to rot in the sun.
James CrumleyStichwörter: life storytelling
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