Southerly, March 22nd, 2007
It was the cold late winter of 2004 and one particular day there was a look of wet cold rain in the distance, for yes, I was thinking of Didion, I was thinking of Chandler, I was thinking of them and more, for my head was filled with sentences from texts, beautifully patterned sentences that just to repeat brought calmness, while my heart was filled with that hopeful sort of misery that accompanies the first sudden discovery of bad news. For isn't that discovery always, instantly, accompanied by the offer, even promise, of hope? And by the human optimism that despite all the signs, everythin...
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