>"She had legs for miles and a thousand-yard stare. I knew her other measurements too, but a gentleman never tells."
>>25606388She had a netless hoop of a cunt and baskettaballs to spare—she never missed a meatball, plate to fork to plump.
>"She was down on her luck and up to no good. They say opposites attract after all. I was about to learn that the usual way."
>"She had legs, and she knew how to use them." - Zechariah Zelda "ZZ" Top
>"She had a septum piercing and hair dyed the colour of an industrial spill. I could tell she was crazy within five feet of meeting her."
>"It was raining cats and dogs and I walked home like an overcrowded animal shelter."
>"She wore the kind of scent that would leave a blind man fulfilled."
>Okay, she was 11.5 inches.
>"In more ways than one, my pistol's like my pisser. The first I use for goons, the other I use for gooning."
>"She smelled like a warm kitchen, the way my mother smelled when I was a little kid. I grabbed hold of her shirt and began to sniff furiously. Not my usual style, but it did the trick."
>It was you! You were the Maltese Falcon (1930) by Dashiell Hammett all along!Stopped reading right there.
>>25606388A gentleman already knows. It's the woman that never tells (the truth).
>>25606630I could never call myself a gentleman since I've never been very gentle. And according to my ex, I'm a failure as a man too.
Lol
>>25606672Funny. My ex said I was a great man. Not sure if she meant it considering she told me right as she was breaking up with me.
>>25606751My ex said I was a great man. She hated me for it. She said I was abrasive, prone to hurting her, full of holes and only good for cheese. She was also dyslexic.
>>25606414lmao
>I was beating a dead horse and she had the legs of a Grand National winner. Together we made quite the pair.
>>25606388It was about half-past seven on a cold October evening when she came.I’d been sitting at the typewriter for three hours and all I had to show for it was my worst headache since the weekend I’d tried to explain Mulholland Drive to my mother. I decided to make the book a collaborative venture: me and Jack Daniels. If I ever sold the thing he was welcome to half the profits. I’d just taken the first sip when I heard footsteps in the corridor. Maybe it was the publishing director of Harper Collins with a briefcase full of used twenties, hoping he was ahead of the rush.Then the door opened and there she stood. Blonde hair, a lazy smile and an Yves Salomon coat wrappped around a figure that would’ve made Raquel Welch move to Wisconsin and look for a job sweeping sidewalks.“Good evening, miss,” I said. “Well, it wasn’t, but it is now. Is there something I can do for you?”
>The meme was as old and dry as she was and almost as stupid.
>I dodged that bullet, little did I know that she was the smoking gun
>I was leaning against the bar in a speakeasy on Fifty-second Street, waiting for Nora to finish her Christmas shopping, when a girl got up from the table where she had been sitting with three other people and came over to me. She was small and blonde, and whether you looked at her face or at her body in powder-blue sports clothes, the result was satisfactory.
>She was a broad like a cheap whiskey; sweet on the lips, burning on the way down. She'd leave you sore in the morning and wondering why you spent anything on her in the first place. And the very next night, she'd have you there again, on your knees in a grotty dive-bar bathroom.
She had a taste as decadent as the Roman Empire, and I was dying to eat lead.
>She smelt like the Paris that hasn't existed for a century
>She had legs for miles. I found her on the catalog of /d/.>She had legs for kilometers. I told that foreigner thirdie "Fuck off, we're full".>She had legs that knew how to stretch, and a mouth that knew how to stretch the truth.>She had legs that wouldn't quit, until she got into that accident. They were forcibly retired, with a generous severance.>She had legs to die for, and once a month to dye for.
>>25607727As a self-correction, I think "praying on your knees in a dive-bar bathroom" rings a little better, better rhythm, better flow, more symbolic. "Dive-bar" already suggests grottiness, and "grotty" is not a word that fits that kind of prose.
some good ones
The Jap took a long drag from her cigarette and disappeared into the cloud like a kamikaze pilot. But unlike Pearl Harbor, I was waiting for this bombshell.
>Behind those ruby-red lips and those lipstick-tinged teeth was a tongue that’d wag and set any pup dog she wanted to wag his tail along with it. But the pout on that pretty mouth meant she knew this bulldog didn’t have the capacity.
>>25608943“Puppy dog,” dammit.
>>25608199Bravo
>>25606388>The lady who sidled into my office was sleek and slickly wet with a healthily bright and moist gloss to her skin. Now I've seen dames and dames, but even I couldn't help but give her a good once-over; curves in all the right places and good hips, shaped just right to clasp in a night of passion or to spawn a thousand kids. But the dazzling orange polka dot of her skin proclaimed in loud neon that if you messed with her, she'd mess you back but good. This dame was as poison-mean as they come.
>>25606388I'm on my knees pepe noir. There are tears in my eyes. I can't take the hysterics. You must stop.
I woke up in the morning, a bit hangover as it happens since last night I was hitting it big with my friends - Jim, Jack and James, and my phone was buzzing with the sound that split my skull and made me crave for a bullet. I answer the call and get a strange question, something about film noir and my favorite picks, from some unknown lady giving me a new case to work on. I'll get some dime and squeeze the euros out of her purse, thought I, for I also need money to get by and finance my ever expanding need for friends that start with J, and who best to hire but a P.I. who walks the crooked paths of dark alleys and grimy streets, often deals with scum, slime and the Devil with his pale blue teeth smiling slyly, forever following the trail of human greed and folly, checking in his cheque and reaping more souls for his kingdom down under.
>She was wearing a Mount Rushmore T-shirt, and those guys never looked so good. Especially Jefferson and Lincoln. Kind of bloated, but happy.
>>25607168nice.
>"She followed me through the spit back to my apartment. I poured some rye and we talked about my folks out in the sticks, about the ghost of growing up in a cold-water flat on Coney. I was a stranger in a strange town, and she was about the only thing that felt half-familiar."
>>25606388https://youtu.be/u116HbMOF_Y?si=7R2cZwt6jRpUGkz9&t=4>"The rain had come to wash away the mobsters' blood off the pavement, just as I had come to wash away my pain. Anon Boobnitti was in four, five, six pieces, like the world's most impossible jigsaw puzzle. Like Humpty-Dumpty. But all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put him back together. They were all dead. I killed them. Love hurts."
>>25606388i like this image, pepe noircan I save it?
>>25606388lol, yeah, 2 inches bigger than yours.
>>25606388She smelled of Cheap Cigarettes, Cheap Bourbon, and Cheap Perfume, but you'd never know it by what she was charging.
>"I had twenty dollars to my name, and two hundred on my head. I was half in mind to turn myself in just so that I could remember the sound of having spare change in my pocket."
>"She swiped right and I did the same. We met at a speakeasy in a run-down side of town. That night she would be swiping right again, and I'd leave her place with my jaw feeling like it could pick up the signal of a Nebraska radio station."
>"She told me she had fourteen hundred subscribers, so I asked what her rag she was writing for. Her laugh was so wide it felt polite to offer a cavity check. Turns out cavity checks were the reason she had fourteen hundred subscribers."
>"Her smile was too wide. There was something predatory about it. It was the kind of smile usually seen by small tame creatures across two hundred feet of veld."
>"She had the looks of pre-war Paris but the morals of post-war Berlin. As the evening wore on it felt more and more like we were reenacting the sack of Rome."
>"She poked at my gun through the lump in my coat and told me she had a thing for bad boys. I told her I had a thing for them too, which explained the lump in my coat."
>"It was Christmas Eve. I was sitting alone in an empty bar. The face in the mirror told me I would need a new calendar soon. It told me a lot of things, but most of all I thought about the calendar."
>”whiskey and ice?”, I said to the charming widowed Latina murderess. The approaching sirens would be audible within a few minutes. Time enough for love.
>"I was five rounds in and fifteen dollars down. The extra drinks were supposed to have loosened the button man's tongue, but I hadn't accounted for his being Irish. I heard the shots when he stepped into the back alley to take a leak. I found five smoking rounds in that inscrutable mick, but not fifteen cents in his pockets."
>"It was a cold uncaring city, but strangely I felt right at home. I guess I could thank my mother for that. I saw her face in every stranger that didn't look my way."
I was the body of Christ. I was the enemy of mankind. I was matzah, a Middle Eastern Mediterranean delicacy: A slice of tasteless, flat, stale bread that didn't wait for yeast to rise, which made me dirt cheap and made me not very good. As a fast-food idea I wouldn't have worked if the ingredients weren't so easy to get. I wasn't real. I was gobbledygook. I was as unreal as the unclaimed piece of landmass they call Israel.
>"The old neighborhood had changed a lot since the day I waved to my parents through a Greyhound window. It was as though Pangaea had reformed and all the disparate peoples of the Earth now wandered all-ways through the streets of my hometown, each one a stranger to the other."
>"They say a man has two lives, and that the second begins when he realizes he only has one. But for all it's worth I know there is a third life, which begins and ends the day he sets eyes on a certain red-headed dame in a speakeasy on East 7th Street."
>"She was the kind of moll that could make a man feel ten years younger, three inches taller, and twenty-five dollars lighter, and all that in the space of an hour."
>"It was three am and I'd been edging since sundown. And to think I had the nerve to look down on men who worked with their hands."
My internal monologue was superfluous at best. It ebbed and flowed in various superficial waves, like a simile. The sort of simile that was using letters, as though words formed similes out of nothing but somewhat stupid made-up sentences. When put that way, this sounded like a queer notion, even if a little conceptual and abstract. Stupid, warm simile.
>"She was a widow with a lot of dough. The insurance firm had sent me to discover the true cause of her ex-husband's demise. The way she laughed when I mentioned his name made me picture a lone bell ringing in some boneyard out in the fens."
>"The barman gave me a tender look. He said the next drink was on the house. By the time it was finished I felt like climbing up there myself."
>"So what if life hadn't turned out the way I planned it? Most men's lives turned out the same, or worse. Only those men at least have warm words spoken into their ear on occasion, and a couple younger versions of themselves at hand whose accomplishments he is certain will compensate for his own desultory fate. Me? I had a forum full of strangers and the haunting mental image of my own disappointed younger self as my sole companions. Still, I was alive for all that was worth, which really wasn't much."
>"I asked her body count and she began to flick her fingers as though she was trying to dry them off. I was surprised this broad could remember her own name, and I was almost certain she would make no effort to remember mine."
>"She had the kind of eyes that could teach a man to swim."
I drifted into the thread thinking I could see something written by a human. I felt silly, like how it feels going through Spanish Harlem and yelling the name Maria and only expecting one girl to come to the window.
>Still dripping with rain at the edges of being, I rushed into the library - a veritable treasure trove of everything and nothing. I jammed my hand into the nearest shelf, and a massive paperback came out, stuck to my palm like ooze. "The Big Sleep," by Chandler himself. I flicked it open and landed on a page, any page. I couldn't believe it. He really did write like that. Funny as hell, it was the most horrible thing I could think of.
bump
>Her lips would say 'come here' before her mouth would say 'no'
>>25613985I like this one.
I wish I was smart enough to come up with some of these. I can't write
I was never good with metaphors.>She was tall and soft all over, her waist tapering just enough to convince my second head she was a knockout. When she squeezed one tender thigh halfway into my seat, the first head came around too.>“I’m awfully sorry,” she said, her heart-shaped face slick with sweat.>“Don’t be.”>She smiled apologetically and tried to work out where to put her arms and shoulders.>I had a few good ideas. Like all good ideas, they didn’t need saying out loud. I laid my arm along the back of the bus seat, and she found it natural to settle in under it.>Outside, the city slid past in wet headlights, a concrete beast groaning on its deathbed. Inside, the AC wheezed like a man on his last cigarette, and the heat pooled around us. Her face grew glossier. Her scent grew sweeter. Her warm weight sank into me, the way chocolate goes gooey in summer.>The bus swayed, and her head dropped onto my chest. Her half-closed eyes didn’t seem to notice my fingers sinking into her arm.>“I’m sorry,” she said again, softer, more delicious.>She looked up at me. Her eyes were chocolate brown and wanting.>“Don’t be.” I bent down and drank every drop of sweetness her lips had to offer.>She didn’t fight. They never did.>By the time the bus hissed to a stop, nothing remained of her but a damp spot on the vinyl.>Then a new woman climbed aboard. She ignored the empty seats and came down the aisle with her eyes on me.>She was leaner than the last one, a little angular. But that was alright. Her lips looked just as sweet.
>>25606757I guess she really bleu what colby been a gouda thing, but just wasn't meant to brie. Gorgonzola.
