📕 subnode [[@flancia.org/chandler]] in 📚 node [[chandler]]

I was in the shower yesterday when I thought about a great candidate for another experiment with GPT-2 small: Raymond Chandler.

A guy with very large brown eyes came up and he had the white hair combed back in. He went on and on about his business, about he was the new face of the man he was having a talk with about the death of a close friend.

He was very handsome. He had a great face. He had a huge smile. He was very hard on himself.

He was very hard on me. I don't know what to say about that. It's just a fact.

The cigarette went out, and there was a light, and then a snotty clang of a motor.

"Take that and hold it for me," I said, and sat back. A girl mustn't be so lucky.

That was the last look I had on her. After half an hour she stood up and ran off into the night.

[36]

About noon I got up and I went to the front door and opened it. A beautiful girl sitting without a top was inside. She sat down by a mirror that was very tall and had a neat shape--like a rose. She looked as if she might be in the hills with a man named Harlan Potter because she had short blonde hair. She had a beautiful face.

She was a long slender girl, with good manners, a bit of a drinker, and nothing to look forward to except a lovely new life with her husband.

The blonde looked surprised. "A dime," she said. "Where's my dime?"

I stared at her silently for a long moment. Then I got the phone out and started to dial it.

"I'm calling on the 405. I never answer calls. Don't you ever?"

"Never. We don't talk to each other in this city."

"You know what's funny," he said. "You're a good big man but you're not big. You have a face like a man has but a face like a woman has. You don't have the charm, but the strength, the endurance, the courage--all these are things women have. And when you go for it, the end comes out pretty quick. But you don't have to be a big guy to do it. Even if you're not a big guy."

He said nothing, then looked at me slowly. I just looked at him.

"I didn't know you were a character on Arrested Development," he said slowly.

"I was in a movie once. I was a drunk. I had a drink. It wasn't the right time for it. I was all right." Nice Arrested Development reference.

"Some people want to kill her. Some people want to marry her. Some people want to be with her. And some people want to live with her. That's all there is to it."

"I don't know why they would want me to marry them," she said. "I'm afraid they don't know any better."

"And you wouldn't marry them?" I asked.

"No. I'm afraid I would not marry them. I don't know why."

She had a bright red coat that was a little too tight. She was wearing a white blouse of no color, a white hat, a black peacock chair, a dark blue scarf, a black and white cocktail bar, a pair of brown suede shoes, a pair of gray glasses in a brown velvet pocket with a gold band. She was a woman.

Eddie Mars was a tall, rather thin, dark-haired man with a deadpan look. He had dark long hair and a clear straight face, and his nose was curled in a loose bun.

For Christ's sake, Jesus, we're all going to be in this together, Jesus. And there's nothing to fear but God.

I stopped talking and turned around and looked at him without moving.

We stood up in front of the little white door that led up from the kitchen into the back of the house. It was a nice little cottage, easy to warm up in. Even from the outside it smelled of steam. The servants were quiet, as usual, the air was pleasant and the smell of fresh water was rather overpowering.

We went through the doors and the french doors and looked around. Everything was the same. There was no door. There was no sign of anyone in the room. No sound, no movement at all. We could smell the air, but nothing else. We didn't smell any thing, but the smell of the air.

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