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Old April 28th, 2001, 02:29 PM   #16
roo
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Am I Penny? Are you sure? ((((((Lou)))))

I'm serious, though, I used to remember chat conversations from 4 years ago, not one but all of them! I was not photographic in memory but I wasn't far from it, as long as I read it I remembered it
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Old April 28th, 2001, 02:33 PM   #17
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I'm not talking to you any more today. Whoever you are. You can't scare me. I am not gullible.


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Old April 28th, 2001, 02:35 PM   #18
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<font size="7">ROFLMAOPIMP</font size> Lou, I love you!
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Old April 28th, 2001, 02:36 PM   #19
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Something went terribly wrong with HTML in River City on a quiet Saturday.....
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Old April 28th, 2001, 02:58 PM   #20
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OK while you are gone I plan on running through the folders, with scissors in hand, kind of running amok, reading what I haven't had time to do.

Meanwhile, in <b>Apartment 3G, it was later that afternoon....</b>
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Old April 28th, 2001, 02:58 PM   #21
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WHO TURNED OFF MY HTML????????
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Old April 28th, 2001, 03:12 PM   #22
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I'll show you all! I plan on writing the great american novel in here, so there!

A Novel-Noir in Spring.

I remember it well, the din of duelling lawn mowers throbbing in the memory of my Saturdays in spring. I sat sipping coffee, watching the clouds flirt together in the azure skies over the bay.

Then she knocked on my office door. That knock, at once insistent yet shy, warned me that something this was something that would be big. I stashed my bottle of rye into my fur lined pouch and said, "Come in."

She was a sight for sore eyes. Tall, lean, dressed to the nines in Coldwater Creek. A dame who knew her way into trouble. She studied me with those great doe eyes of hers. I knew that face from somewhere.

"Roo Marsupial?" She asked, her voice quivering between fear and boldness.

"Yes," I retorted, terse as ever.

Then I had it. Monseratte. 1943. We used to call her "Miss Biggie," the girl in the purple pillbox hat. She worked the stage of the Cabana, before the Vichy had their way with the island. Of all the detective agencies in the world, why did she have to stumble into mine?
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Old April 28th, 2001, 03:27 PM   #23
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Chapter 2

She was in trouble. How well I remember that pinched look on her face. What was it now? A run in her stockings? Threats of a volcano? Whatever it was, that look spelled trouble.

But if I closed my eyes, I can still see it vividly. The stage of the Cabana, smelling of lemon soap, wax and gin. The Vichy gunboats in the harbor, the bitter smell of diesel fuel lingering in rusty-brown putrid little clouds wafting across the emerald bay. The lonely concrete train station. The steady rumble of men in fez hats trying to whisper. Images of Rocky and Bullwinkle intrude, breaking the mood.

I snapped my eyes open.

She was still there.

I poured her a drink, sliding it across my desk. Was that a Swatch watch she wore? How low she had fallen!
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Old April 28th, 2001, 03:38 PM   #24
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Chapter 3

"It's my husband, Paul. Paul Derrida."

"Isn't he brother to Jaques? 'The Jaques Derrida?'" I asked. She nodded yes.

"He is dead." she breathed out the words.

"Paul or Jaques?" I asked, knowing full well that deconstructionism was dead, damn it.

Now we were getting somewhere.
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Old April 28th, 2001, 04:30 PM   #25
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<FONT SIZE=5>(((((((((((Jake)))))))))))!</FONT>

I <u>knew</u> she had to let you out sooner or later.

Wait. Is that a clich?? Sooner than the last smokey city light slides through the dusty Venetian blinds. Later than the final question spells the end of the interrogation and she shows us the steady back edge of those red high heels.
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Old April 28th, 2001, 08:29 PM   #26
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You forgot the camel cigarettes
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Old April 29th, 2001, 01:11 AM   #27
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Chapter 4 (dedicated to Papa Hemingway)

I realized. In the rain. I wanted scotch.












After all.
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Old April 29th, 2001, 01:27 AM   #28
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Ooooo (((((roo))))) --that's good!

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Old April 29th, 2001, 01:33 AM   #29
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(((((((Lou))))))
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Old April 29th, 2001, 03:00 PM   #30
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Chapter 6. (For Emily Dickenson)

I could not PUT aside --
The jilted Feel Within --
A sorry little SIGH!
And Sapphire blue Gin!

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