Föstudagur, 14. júlí 2006
I went out to the kitchen to make coffee - yards of coffee. Rich, strong, bitter, boiling hot, ruthless, depraved. The life-blood of tired men.
Chandler, auðvitað. Besti rithöfundur síðustu aldar var með þetta allt á hreinu. Súmmeraði lífið upp á 64 reitum í The Big Sleep.
I looked down at the chessboard. The move with the knight was wrong. I put it back where I had moved it from. Knights had no meaning in this game. It wasn´t a game for knights.
