Eighty-four years ago today the publisher Alfred A. Knopf debuted an instant classic titled The Maltese Falcon. As I always say, the sickest Valentine’s day novel ever.
Yeah, maybe I love you and maybe you love me.
This side of the scale and that side.
If they hang you.
By that sweet neck.
I wonder if someone at Knopf beat each and every post-modernist hipster to the punch in the irony department by about 80 years?
