I have been ill. The fever has receded at last but I have a cough that would make Dashiell Hammett proud. It strikes at the strangest times. I'm cruising along and it even feels like I'm breathing normally and then suddenly I'm in the midst of a coughing fit that actually frightens people on the bus away from me.
Not quite a cough at Dash Hammett's level mind you. TB or no TB he kept smoking 70 packs of cigarettes a day, drinking whiskey by the crate and injecting typewriter ink directly into his veins. Men were made of sterner stuff in those days. Hammett kept a spare Underwood on hand at all times to beat men to death if they tried to take his cigarettes or booze away. I make sad little whimpery noises, drink juice and watch all the little fever hallucinations float by. Bah.
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3 comments:
so what I'm hearing is that you'd like a typewriter from Santa...
Well, I have been really good this year.
drink more whiskey, that'll fix ya.
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