"Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid....He must be the best man in his world, and a go… - Raymond Chandler

I looked at her again. She lay still now, her face pale against the pillow, her eyes large and dark and empty as rain barrels in a drought. One of her small five-fingered thumbless hands picked at the cover restlessly. There was a vague glimmer of doubt starting to get born in her somewhere. She didn't know about it yet. It's so hard for women - even nice women - to realise that their bodies are not irresistible.

I don't greatly care for passes this early in the morning.

You're not human tonight, Marlowe.