Westerns where the man got the gal. And detective novels, where the man got the gal and also caught the bad guy.
He was not yet thirty, was never married, and had no children, but one glance in the mirror showed a man who seemed older, his skin baked brown by the sun and further aged by being behind bars the rest of the time.
I’ve smoked on a train, on a Navy ship. And in a damn church. My old man smoked in the waiting room when I was being born, so they told me.
“Where you headed?” “Somewhere that’s not here,” said Archer.