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As it was, the evening was late when I stepped out of the smoky bar, listening to the noise of fistfights and splintering chairs and shattered bottles behind me; and for the briefest of moments, I was lost, like a child staring blindly at the sun. I vowed that I would never again consume so much liquor that I took leave of my senses, but even as the promise left my mind and entered my heart, I wasn't sure that whiskey had anything to do with my disorientation. I couldn't remember ordering a drink or why I had been in the bar to begin with. Still, who went to a bar if not to sip at a beer or down a shot or two of tequila?
The line between life and death is thin, and it's made of silver and steel, I thought to myself stupidly as I contemplated my problem and aching head. I wasn't at all sure what that meant, and it scared me a little to be thinking in a gibberish that only Lewis Carroll would have understood.
Something definitely wasn't right, and I knew it. But I tried to push the thought out of my mind along with that bit about the line between this life and the next. The moon was bright and hot against my skin, and I didn't feel comfortable in front of the well-lit club. But at least it made me focus on something other than my own confusion. Hoping to clear my mind a little, I stepped intothe alley that ran beside the bar. Once I was completely immersed in the darkness like a man in the midst of sleep, I remembered where I was supposed to go-Juliette's shop. Never mind that it was the only place I could think of. It was the right place, and I went there with only vague remembrances of what I had done in that neon-lit bar.
Predictable, very boring, crap. Eric Brown writes like a 15 year old kid. He writes like he hates people, but not in a amusing way. You want to blow some money and walk away dissatisfied buy this book or really any Eric S. Brown book. Seriously Eric did someone tell you your stories were good or did you just think that up yourself? You are terrible and I think you need someone to honestly tell you that. The multitude of different stories you have written does not make you a great writer. There is a difference between writing and writing well and I think you need to learn that. Take a class where people will tell you what they honestly think of your stories. Most of the stories could be good with the right build up or maybe if they were a lot longer than 8-10 pages. I felt cheated by an author that wanted to get his stories sold more than he wanted to write a good story...F-.
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