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weather,

weather, the weather Latin :
1. distemper [of the elements or the moods of men].
2. inclement [weather] storm.
3. whim, intemperance intemperance.
4. indiscipline and insubordination.

Somewhere Red Harvest, the Continental agent reminds his fellow newcomers to Poisonville: "The evidence will not do. What we need is dynamite." Something here has been dislodged from the hinges of black genre, something is starting to walk into a wasteland of rubble. A Hercule Poirot chips have reached the bottom. The detective is no longer a covert temporal sequences reader, no longer a question of clarifying what happened, to put in place every element of the facts. This is another accident to happen again, to apply loads in the appropriate places for conflict to surface. The business is not in the interpretation of the structure but in the production of the event:

"" So that's the scientific method of work that you have the detectives. The truth, considering that you're a fat, forty, not home with anyone and stubborn, you have the less specific way of working of all I know.
"The plans are good sometimes," I said. And others, what is right is just stirring things up, it's okay if you're sufficiently hard to survive and keep your eyes peeled to see what interests you when you surface. "

Dashiell Hammett Red Harvest

Registered as a catalyst in the trend, the Continental agent must live in the conditional part in two reality-or survivor or corpse with clenched care as long as possible.
In Poisonville not sleep. In Poisonville sleep is supplied with gin and coffee and cold showers laden dawn. It roams looking for the right time for hunting, wandering without purpose, without thought of returning to a point source that meets the requirements of the domestic. Is the weather as exteriority, as life on the outside of the rules and plans, as exposure. Stand at the climate goes through converted to other corpses, and make effective in others the threat of exposure or, as the text, become blood-simple . Red Harvest
works with the logic of the myth of the descent into hell. For some, shall we say, it is possible to live even in a nation of devils. But how to describe the process of conversion to a creed of blood such as fever, sickness and poisoning recalls that, despite everything, life in the open is also a life in which can not go home a life in which can not return to oneself, a life outside of himself: "I have tough skin over the rest of my soul and, after walking between crimes for twenty years, I can study any kind of murder without seeing it more than daily bread, my job. But this deadly making plans to enjoy, no, that's not me. Is what this city has made me. "In such a situation, if something is is to even want to live otherwise, or close your eyes and listen for the coup. The Continental agent is immersed in the night of laudanum and Hell, outside and inside, follow its own course.

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Saturday, Main St.

enough to be at the right time on Main St. for when they arrive from the fields. These men, these beasts of burden back appear sunken city at dusk as heck arrived directly dusty desert. They know no father, no brother know, none of the fear of God home to their souls. Everything must be done in one night. Everything is double atonement morning bell.

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Breathing,

tucked At the first I only had time to cross the hand. The second or have seen it coming. Amid the smoke and music, no one seems to have realized, as I try not to move. The worst is not pain but felt that the hole you are going out the guts. The ragamuffins that has given me the wet does not worry me, these take little to open. Just breathe I take care of little, very soft, almost no air into the lungs, staying in the throat. I can not stand the feeling that I produced in the stomach to breathe just beyond my throat. The feeling that each breath is opened a little pit, and that only the pressure of my hands prevents it from falling all over the floor.