Thursday, February 14, 2008

Yonge Line, three readers all in a row.

Caucasian male, mid 30s, wearing blue and white jacket, unzipped, paint-splattered black tee underneath. A week's worth of growth covers his head, not enough to obscure the dozens of infected bumps circling his temples.

Afterimage, Jay Brandon (Forge Books)

Page 8:

In fact, as the narcotics had told Chris Sinclair in the privacy of the DA's office, the detective had not only lagged behind, he had been yelling at the uniformed officer to wait. But Reynolds was not only younger than the detective, he was thinner and much faster. "He bolted like a rabbit with diarrhea," the detective had said disgustedly.
They weren't at a stage where they'd exchanged keys or cleared a shelf in the bathroom. He was comfortable enough to stay the night, and his work wardrobe was pretty simple. So was his morning maintenance. A quick in and out of the shower, and a close shave to his head, once a week. Her legs were really smooth, he'd thought. And that gel strip on the razor probably meant he wouldn't have to lather.


smittenkittenorig said...

I just have to tell you that I very much enjoy your blog. I read it but haven't commented until now. :) Personally, I find your passages more engaging than the excerpts from the published works. Sublime.

Julie Wilson said...

Thanks kindly! It's very much appreciated. :D