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Murder Is But A Memory

by

I sat at the desk in my office on Sunset, looking out the window. One of those new Nash Ramblers just went by. If that's what cars look like now it churns my stomach to think what they'll look like by the end of the 50's.

My ears pricked up as I heard the building's outer door open and close. Then she appeared behind the glass in my office door. She was reading my name and occupation on it. Jake Randolph, Private Investigator. She hesitated before pushing the door open. Man, I couldn't breathe. For once it wasn't L.A. smog...

3 comments add one below

  • avatar

    D.M. over 5 years ago

    'looking forward to this!

  • avatar

    Drew Martyn over 5 years ago

    The effort;ess way you set the time and the context - fantastic. Superb start!

  • avatar

    Christopher over 5 years ago

    Thank you all. When it comes to writing, my heart lies with Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, and Mickey Spillane. I hope I can do justice to their great legacy.

    With only 100 words at a time, though, this may be a long journey. Please bear with me. Thanks again for the kind words and encouragement. It means a great deal to me.

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