In Garrett’s imagination, he lives, not in his shy, mundane existence, but in a noir film…
his idea of carousing limited to the quiet world of dark bars and the terse, monotone conversation of a Dashiell Hammett or possibly Mickey Spillane hero….
(minus the mild flamboyance of the Thin Man).
He wants to lie low, knock a few back…. and listen to the patois of the con men and the thieves, the card sharks, and the suspected hit men…
But Skeeter doesn’t say much, except to whine softly when he wants to go out…
He won’t wear a fedora, and he hides from the scent of danger… or any sense of evil-doing.
Garrett is setting the mood for tonight’s dreams… skulking about in his wingtips and fedora, while already wearing his pajamas and robe….
peering into the shadows to make sure the coast is clear, before his nightcap…
Which he wishes could be bourbon, but the doctor says no.
Ginger ale is too pale, he’s decided… cranberry juice too red… coffee and cola keep him up.
Tonight he’ll settle for root beer…. but he doesn’t really care for it.
Maybe tomorrow he’ll find something else brown, with neither alcohol nor caffeine.
Meanwhile… does anybody have a guess as to the identity or function of the grey/silver item to the right of the candles?
It touches the green half-table, behind the ruby wing chair? (Mr. Van A is quite the decorator.)
It’s too raggedy to be a cane…
and if it’s a cigarette, spewing smoke… how is it standing on end?
In Garrett’s imagination, he lives, not in his shy, mundane existence, but in a noir film…
his idea of carousing limited to the quiet world of dark bars and the terse, monotone conversation of a Dashiell Hammett or possibly Mickey Spillane hero….
(minus the mild flamboyance of the Thin Man).
He wants to lie low, knock a few back…. and listen to the patois of the con men and the thieves, the card sharks, and the suspected hit men…
But Skeeter doesn’t say much, except to whine softly when he wants to go out…
He won’t wear a fedora, and he hides from the scent of danger… or any sense of evil-doing.
Garrett is setting the mood for tonight’s dreams… skulking about in his wingtips and fedora, while already wearing his pajamas and robe….
peering into the shadows to make sure the coast is clear, before his nightcap…
Which he wishes could be bourbon, but the doctor says no.
Ginger ale is too pale, he’s decided… cranberry juice too red… coffee and cola keep him up.
Tonight he’ll settle for root beer…. but he doesn’t really care for it.
Maybe tomorrow he’ll find something else brown, with neither alcohol nor caffeine.
Meanwhile… does anybody have a guess as to the identity or function of the grey/silver item to the right of the candles?
It touches the green half-table, behind the ruby wing chair? (Mr. Van A is quite the decorator.)
It’s too raggedy to be a cane…
and if it’s a cigarette, spewing smoke… how is it standing on end?