When I got home I mixed a stiff one and stood by the open window in the living room and sipped it and listened to the groundswell of traffic on Laurel Canyon Boulevard and looked at the glare of the big angry city hanging over the shoulder of the hills through which the boulevard had been cut. Far off the banshee wail of police or fire sirens rose and fell, never for very long completely silent. Twenty four hours a day somebody is running, somebody else is trying to catch him.
— Raymond Chandler
Let’s be honest, my blog has always been the real “fuckyeah” Leonard Cohen.
He marvelled that he had ever kissed the mouth that now mastered cigarettes.