The Darling Dahlias And The Silver Dollar Bush - Plot & Excerpts
His green eyeshade was pulled low, and a cigarette hung limp out of one corner of his mouth, the smoke curling in front of his face. A half-full bottle of warm Hires Root Beer, his second of the morning, stood at his elbow, and an overflowing ashtray sat on the Webster’s Dictionary. The typewriter keys clacked, the carriage slammed, and the black electric fan on the edge of the desk whirred noisily. In the back corner of the pressroom, Ophelia Snow was working at the ninety-character keyboard of the Linotype, which produced hot lead slugs with its usual arrhythmic thump. On the shelf over her head, the radio was playing the “Liberty Bell March,” loud. Charlie wrote best when there was plenty of background noise, the way there had been in the other newsrooms where he’d worked. Somehow, noise seemed to fuel the creative process. The words came quicker and they had more energy, especially on days when he was plagued with a morning-after headache that pounded in his head like a set of drums in a basement.
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