Sunday, February 21, 2010

Film Noir

Shadows danced the dance macabre everytime a car drove by the window of his cluttered old office. The air reeked of suspended dust and burnt tobacco, a smell that Detective Grey had gotten used to and hardly sensed anymore. And spread out before him like the pieces of a jig saw that wouldn't quite fit together, lay the three letters Rose had written to her three lovers on the very same night she let herself be claimed by the cold abysmal ocean. Somewhere in those letters lurked a mystery that was even darker than the night outside

1 comment:

gaurav said...

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