In March of that year, I saw a man named Paul Barkley shot to death. It happened late at night in the parking lot of a café in Santa Rosa called Galileo’s.
Frederick WeiselTag: murder mystery teller weisel
Anita Kleinman was a slight woman in her seventies. Her hair was thinning and white with a touch of pink, and was swept back from her face in unbroken waves. She wore a full-length Chinese silk gown covered with bright gold dragons on a blue background. Her fingers were tipped with long red nails and heavy with gold rings. She held out her arms in an expression of welcome and perhaps to show me the full extent of her dragons.
Frederick WeiselTag: characters teller weisel frederick-weisel
But, whatever the magic, I wasn’t smarter than chemistry, and after a while, I heard two people talking in the empty room next door, their whispers coming out of the phone jack.
Frederick WeiselTag: teller weisel fredercik-weisel
If they’re together long enough, every couple has one conversation over and over. This was ours.
Frederick WeiselTag: conversation couple teller weisel frederick-weisel
Nico’s hair was combed straight up, stiff with mousse, the tips dyed the color of traffic cones.
Frederick WeiselTag: hair teller weisel frederick-weisel mousse traffic-cones
Over the years, Skye sampled every drug she could find, and like many addicts, had a working knowledge of pharmacology. She snorted coke and swallowed pills. She took downers—orange and red Seconal, red and ivory Dalmane, Miltown, Librium, Luminal, Nembutal, and Quaaludes. Blue devils, red birds, purple hearts. Enough of them sank her in a kind of coma, where she watched her own limbs suspended in front of her in syrup. For a party, there was Benzedrine, rushing in her veins and making her talk for an hour in one long sentence. Day to day, she carried yellow tablets loose in her pockets, Dilaudid and Percodan, and chewed them in the back of classrooms. But her favorite was the greatest pain reliever of them all, named for the German word for hero.
Frederick WeiselTag: drugs teller weisel frederick-weisel
Seth lay on a sofa. His large dirty work boots were defiantly planted on the sofa cushion, all his energy focused on smoking a cigarette, as if it were a job.
Frederick WeiselTag: smoking teller weisel frederick-weisel
Of course, when you fall out of love, it’s rarely about just one failure or one betrayal, is it? . . .
How does it happen? All those things you once loved about each other are replaced by other things that remind you of something you hate until you’re always setting each other off, and what you share is a battleground. In the end, the failure turns out to be less about sex—which surprises most men—and more about loss of respect. One morning your partner looks at you across the bed and wonders at the waywardness of her own heart—how, she asks herself, can she feel such disdain for someone she once felt such love?
Tag: love hate failure betrayal teller weisel frederick-weisel
Take a seat, Charlie,” he said. “I’ll kill you in a few minutes. It’ll be good for you.
Frederick WeiselTag: murder teller weisel frederick-weisel
Every American autobiography, someone once said, is about one thing—escape. Look into the frightened heart of an American life, and you’ll find a compulsion to flee—a seed planted in the national character at the start by those ships sailing out of Europe and landing on our shores.
— Teller: A Novel
Tag: autobiography escape teller weisel frederick-weisel
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