Hung around the Borders on the outskirts of Chicago for a
couple hours this evening. It's been a long week and it's
only Wednesday. I found a great deal on Connelly's Closers
and Narrows. Bought the hardbacks new for less than what the
mass paperback versions will run.
I read several more Edgar Allan Poe stories while I was
there. I love some of his stories but the ones I read tonight
pretty much sucked. One was MS in a Bottle. Another was The
Oval Portrait. Then two where the protagonists' female
counterparts were their cousins. Didn't Poe marry his
13-year-old cousin, or something like that? There's at least
a hint of incest in The Fall of the House of Usher, a
favorite of mine. The Black Cat is good, too. And the old
favorites like Cask of Amontillado and The Tell-Tale Heart
and The Mask of the Red Death (is that right?).
The MS in a Bottle smelled a whole hell of a lot like
Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner, but without the
weight of Coleridge.
I've been reading Wister's Virginian this week. So far it's
just a little bit too romancey for me. It needs a bit a
ass-whuppin' to break the monotony.
Been a long three weeks on the road. Home tomorrow and I'm
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