skip to main
|
skip to sidebar
Pulp Poem of the Week
Unvarnished Language, Unvarnished Truth
Monday, July 14, 2008
Her voice faded off
into a sort of sad whisper,
like a mortician asking
for a down payment.
Raymond Chandler
The Little Sister
1949
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
►
2009
(47)
►
December
(1)
►
November
(3)
►
October
(4)
►
September
(4)
►
August
(5)
►
July
(4)
►
June
(5)
►
May
(4)
►
April
(4)
►
March
(5)
►
February
(4)
►
January
(4)
▼
2008
(29)
►
December
(5)
►
November
(4)
►
October
(4)
►
September
(5)
►
August
(4)
▼
July
(4)
Morning sun stripes cell. Five fingers feel my ha...
Her hair was falling over her shoulders in snaky
Her voice faded off into a sort of sad whisper, l...
He recognized the picture. It was a snapshot, blo...
►
June
(3)
About Me
David Rachels
David is editor of the first-ever collection of Gil Brewer's short fiction,
Redheads Die Quickly and Other Stories
.
View my complete profile
No comments:
Post a Comment