A short break from a busy but otherwise pleasurable day

“I just want my cup of coffee.”

Three steps out of the firm’s office–already he was interrupted.

“Harvey–I was just in the area and I wanted to hear your thoughts on the–”

“Bullshit you were in the area, Ronnie. I saw you jump the second you saw me. You were waiting for me.”

“Be that as it may–”

“Fuck you.”

Harvey walked off. Ronnie chased after him.

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Vivre dangereusement… jusqu’au bout!

a parody of advertisement, written by Amérique Nakamura

He looked out the window. He saw up to the horizon. He cursed under his breath.

“Shit. Shit.”

Belmondo rushed out the room to the hall down the steps and into the kitchen and to Mrs. Franz.

She sat at the kitchen table. Legs crossed across the dusty surface. Feet up. Book in her hands.

Belmondo breathed heavy and said, “Mrs. Franz.”

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Narrative Distance Theory

I was trying to write then and I found the greatest difficulty, aside from knowing truly what you really felt, rather than what you were supposed to feel, and had been taught to feel, was to put down what really happened in action; what the actual things were which produced the emotion that you experienced. In writing for a newspaper you told what happened and, with one trick and another, you communicated the emotion aided by the element of timeliness which gives a certain emotion to any account of something that has happened on that day; but the real thing, the sequence of motion and fact which made the emotion and which would be as valid in a year or in ten years or, with luck and if you stated it purely enough, always, was beyond me and I was working very hard to get it.

Ernest Hemingway, 1932

It feels weird to write something like this when I haven’t really written anything substantial myself, but then again Jean-Luc Godard got his start in film criticism before making Breathless, so I guess I’ll go in real quick.

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Like a Virgin

“No way, nuh uh. I’m not telling you a goddamn thing.”

Cafe Sharktooth, night. Booth in the back. Bustling. Becky and Sawyer. A banana split and a half-eaten pie and a cup of coffee between them. Rockabilly from a jukebox somewhere.

Sawyer popped out and lit yet another Gauloises and set it between her lips and then said, “Why the fuck not?”

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