The Man in the Long Black Coat

 "There was Bruant, striding up and down the top of the bar in the same costume we’d seen in the posters, a gamekeeper’s outfit with a scarlet shirt and scarf, an opera cape and wide-brimmed black hat. He pointed a rattan cane at us and said, “See how they gawk? Like sheep about to be sheared! Muttonheads!”

The crowd laughed. “What are you laughing at?” said Bruant, picking out a balding little pickle of a man in front of him, “You’ve already been sheared to your pink-and-white hide. And the rest of you smell of sheep dip!”

The crowd roared at every word. These were hardly the denizens of the underworld I’d expected to see. They were stock clerks and assistant managers, wine merchants and lace manufacturers, the shank of the bourgeoisie, along with their mistresses and perhaps a few daring wives. They had climbed the butte of Montmartre to come and be scandalized and insulted by the three-penny poet of the bateaux. Bruant gave them good value for their money. A piano player in the corner by the bar banged on the keys, and Bruant tore into a song.

--The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter

King's River Life Review + Coal Tar

 

A new review of The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter:

"The mystery is filled with twists and turns, and there is even a bit of an added mystery in
the epilogue. If you are looking for a new Sherlock Holmes story that is a bit different then you are used to, be sure to check out The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter."

For the full review, check HERE.

Plus, a bonus article in which I take on the burning issue of Sherlock Holmes and coal tar derivatives!

"Instead of painting gods and heroes, kings and queens, they could paint street scenes, picnics by the river, water lilies, dancers, the whole joyous repertoire of everyday life for which we have come to love the Impressionists and with a whole new palette of bright synthetic colors to mix from."

Read it all in King's River Life Magazine.

Swoopers and Bashers, oh my!

 I'll admit right here and now:

I'm a swooper.

How about you?

On entering Arles

 "I tripped over the threshold into the cafe, cutting a slice out of the early-morning silence. An old billiard table commandeered the center of the room, the baize worn down to the slate. It was flanked by a dozen granite-top tables. One of last night’s patrons was passed out face-down at a table near the door, with the reek of vomit rising from him. A small bar stood at the far end of the room beneath an old station-clock; its drip-drop tick-tock was the only answer to my call of good morning."

The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter