From the old Noir Files dated back a few years:
There's always tragic endings in noir but there's always the most
memorable kisses. If I was Vivian, would you be Marlowe then? One kiss
to last a lifetime - maybe that's how it feels, under a stark white
moon with shadows like grey cats in the dark.
Tonight is a dime-store pulp novel - the hard-boiled detective with his infinite cheap cigarette, the dame with soot-black hair and tulip red lips, and the eternal dark in a small, stifling room with tawdry furniture just before the prelude to a kiss. The sheets are down, the rain is pattering like whiskery possum soft-shoe. There's all the time in the world.
And maybe - just maybe - the world turns on a kiss that's still waiting to be given and all that time, all those words, are just fillers till it happens.
Once upon a time, I could actually draw. And I could actually write stuff worth reading. Maybe that's a hint to get a kick in the pants and start practicing both again.
