Disclaimer: This is not a piece written by Raymod Chandler. Nor is it a film script for a great classic flick (when Dick Powell had gotten past that cheery, crooner). Here is gets gritty and punches the lines out like he was going a round wih a side of beef. Naw… This is a silly Yotham City tribute to those things and a good cigar on the cheap that the Surgeon General would say was good for you. This is a bunch of people getting together and sharing and learning about the nature of Film Noir. I’ve taught literature so this a little learning, experiencing, little sharing. Drop in any time you like, participate how you like… Watch Murder, My Sweet, if you can, and read Farewell, My Seet if you like. Take the couch, it’s… comfortable. Cigarrette? I’m having a drink… Yadda, My Sweet 1. It was a warm day, Spring. Yotham city goes from Winter to Spring in an afternoon. After a couple of months the servers can get a little warm (BVG just sent someone to get a better air conditioner [it’s not always cold in Canada, eh?]). But it was hot today. I’d left the car in the sun in the lot behind Alton. Learned seatbelts make decent branding irons. Today the Old Noob was medicinal. I just got a shave by the only guy I know with a steady hand. A haircut too, two bits. He even changed the oil in my hair. I was between cases, which meant I was between bars… looking for clients. My last client, a Mrs. Herrup, wanted to find her husband (Zip). I don’t know why. I gave her a break, started without a retainer. Either they fell in love, or ran away. Maybe both. Either way, I spent an afternoon at Vinny’s, drinking. When I waited long enough I went to Uther’s Pendragon’s Bar & Grill. Then on to Tommy’s Tophat. Then Sammy’s on the southside. Then Rick’s Place in Morrocco. I was working my way down the alphabet and I didn’t care. I got to Quinn’s Inuit Take Out & Bar. It might have had class once… but that would have been bck when Zynga was still turning a profit. The sign on the window read: “SEAL FLIPPERS! Permafrost Ripened! $1 YoCash” The window on the second floor was open… Someone was playing a rag time tune on a agiarut and a tautirut. A punchline drifted out… “and THAT’S why you CAN’T HAVE YOUR KAYAK & HEAT IT TOO!” Loud laughter. A shadow fell on the wall. He was looking up at the window and the sign too… Mesmerized. Like a saint in epiphany, or a cheese taster discovering prunes. He was the shape of a man, not more that six foot, six inches tall, and when you get to half of something, you may as well round up. He wasn’t wider than a beer truck. He was ten feet from me, his arms hanging loose at his side, a forgotten cigar smoldered between a couple of fingers…
Posted on: Fri, 08 Aug 2014 03:53:51 +0000