Our Man in Belize, dave delacroix, No: 95: MARLOWE, Private Dick, R.I.P.
When Private Detective P. MARLOWE died WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE turned in his grave; COPS, FRAILS, HOODS, Pimps, OLD LIQUOR Hollywood SISTAS fumbled for a Single Malt? Faggots galore, renegade BANKERS on the run, the iconic FUGITIVE in search of a one=armed-Ivy-League FRAUD masquerading as your Mother-s Uncle sans/wearing Lanvin No.11: the only lipstick a porter on the Sunset-Limited Amtrak train would Closet-wear inside a rail-cubicle? Carey Grant, maybe, North by Northwest!...Asking for a GIBSON?
WHEN DICKSTER-PEEPSTER Phillip Marlowe bit the hard shoulder of an Under-developed San Fernando Valley 405 OFF-ramp, CITIZENS munching down at the BIG EATS DINER, the adjacent Drive-In movie lot, that pseudo-English Tudor Motel/drug store when prophalactics cost more than a 30 minute room, only the Pontiac Valet would have given a damned if he hadn't been murdered by the Hat-Check Gal who in-turn was murdered by the French Concierge? The Organization? City Hall? Better results than Betty Ford!
When scumbag-PEEPER Marlowe, once KNOWN to hover in exalted circles; Bel-Air, Beverly Whoosit, hosted by Hollyweirds finest as a puppet-on-a-string, like GATSBY'S minions, but IN L.A. they play for keeps, every dual-annual generation of talent, scum, STARS, plus scum agents who value "sang-froid"; blood for Gold Bars and/or who muddies the KISMET, the showcase Cocktail bar, mixed IN a little too much ragamatoo
(Marlowe, what WERE U thinking?) or deprives the slavish GUTS of the Voyeur-Audience-locusts?" Crime murmurs! Crime Cicadas! Then: Ring-ring! Ring-Ring!"..."Sorry; this is Charlene? No. Mr Marlowe, right now, is out of the Office!...Would U like to leave a message?... He never ASKS for Names and Numbers?..."
c.2021, davedelacroix, corozal-belize.
No comments:
Post a Comment