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Paperback
First published January 1, 1976
I left Kenny’s shortly after that. Then there’s a stretch of time I don’t remember clearly. I probably hit a bar or two. Eventually I found myself in the vestibule of Jerry Broadfield’s building on Barrow Street.The casualness with which Block relays the above is just perfect and adds, in my opinion, to the power of the scene.
I don’t know what led me there or why I thought I ought to be there. But it must have made some sort of sense to me at the time. A strip of celluloid popped the inner lock, and did the same job on the door to his apartment. Once inside his apartment, I locked the door and went around turning on lights, making myself at home. I found the bottle of bourbon and poured myself a drink, got a beer from the refrigerator for a chaser. I sat sipping bourbon and chasing it with beer.
'Are you an aloholic?' 'Well, what’s an alcoholic? I suppose I drink enough alcohol to qualify. It doesn’t keep me from functioning. Yet. I suppose it will eventually.' 'Could you stop drinking? Or cut down?' 'Probably. If I had a reason.'I haven't read the subsequent novels yet, but I understand this issue will continue to evolve. Given my fondness for Matt and my thorough enjoyment of Block's storytelling, I intend to stick around to see what happens.
“Everybody's weird, fundamentally everybody is a snap. Sometimes it's a sexual thing and sometimes it's a different kind of weirdness, but one way or another everybody's nuts.”
“People don't get to change things. Things change people once in a while, but people don't change things.”
One man, with not even a junior G-man badge to convince people they ought to talk to him, would not even begin to accomplish anything that way. Especially when the police would not even cooperate with him in the first place. Especially when they were opposed to any investigation that might get Broadfield out of the hot seat.
