Excerpt from Inherent Vice

[rich]

except for the and so forth, good stuff

the and so forth is quite abrupt for such a free flowing passage, no?

On 7/30/09, Robin Landseadel <robinlandseadel at comcast.net> wrote:
> Just posted at the L.A. Times:
>
> 	Sunrise was on the way, the bars were just closed or closing,
> 	out in front of Wavos everybody was either at the tables along
> 	the sidewalk, sleeping with their heads on Health Waffles or in
> 	bowls of vegetarian chili, or being sick in the street, causing
> 	small-motorcycle traffic to skid in the vomit and so forth. It was
> 	late winter in Gordita, though for sure not the usual weather.
> 	You heard people muttering to the effect that last summer the
> 	beach didn't have summer till August, and now there probably
> 	wouldn't be any winter till spring. Santa Anas had been blowing
> 	all the smog out of downtown L.A., funneling between the
> 	Hollywood and Puente Hills on westward through Gordita
> 	Beach and out to sea, and this had been going on for what
> 	seemed like weeks now. Offshore winds had been too strong to
> 	be doing the surf much good, but surfers found themselves
> 	getting up early anyway to watch the dawn weirdness, which
> 	seemed like a visible counterpart to the feeling in everybody's
> 	skin of desert winds and heat and relentlessness, with the
> 	exhaust from millions of motor vehicles mixing with microfine
> 	Mojave sand to refract the light toward the bloody end of the
> 	spectrum, everything dim, lurid and biblical, sailor-take-warning
> 	skies. The state liquor stamps over the tops of tequila bottles in
> 	the stores were coming unstuck, is how dry the air was. Liquor-
> 	store owners could be filling those bottles with anything
> 	anymore. Jets were taking off the wrong way from the airport, 	
> 	the engine sounds were not passing across the sky where they
> 	should have, so everybody's dreams got disarranged, when
> 	people could get to sleep at all. In the little apartment
> 	complexes the wind entered narrowing to whistle through the
> 	stairwells and ramps and catwalks, and the leaves of the palm
> 	trees outside rattled together with a liquid sound, so that from
> 	inside, in the darkened rooms, in louvered light, it sounded like
> 	a rainstorm, the wind raging in the concrete geometry, the
> 	palms beating together like the rush of a tropical downpour,
> 	enough to get you to open the door and look outside, and of
> 	course there'd only be the same hot cloudless depth of day, no
> 	rain in sight.
>
> http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/la-ca-pynchon-sidebar2-2009aug02,0,713040.story
>