"When I finally caught up with Abraham Trahearne, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball Roberts in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon."
James Crumley - The Last Good Kiss
Don't overlook that last sentence, "drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon" facinatingly poetic,. . . don't overlook it cause you're concentrating on what a terrific name "Fireball Roberts" is for a bulldog. I almost did.
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