Camel filters please and a light. There - I point. Oh! The yellow pack. Yes. What else? A lighter. Any color? Shrug. She gave me a green one.
That is the conversation I had with the girl I fancied all during primary school in the Tesco where the newsagent used to be that I would spend the 50p my mother used to give me on Fridays on sweets.

I read Henry Millers "Tropic of Capricorn" and I was hugely let down. He really is an asshole, and in that book he did not come across as the good type of asshole. It would be excusable if it were his last book. I know it's not an autobiography but he seems to write himself as the narrator (which made his other books I read so enthralling).

I am currently reading Fitzgeralds "Tender is the Night" which is a very nice change of pace from Miller and is absolutely incredible. There is one short sentence that amazed me recently.
"It's raining hard."
I believe my affinity to such beautiful sentences restricts me from ever enjoying Faulkner.