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There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends up in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen.
Raymond Chandler’s “Red Wind,” one of the greatest opening paragraphs in literary history (via theoldenfuture)
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