Danny was thinking a few things:
1. That Howard was starting to sound a little nuts. Lots of powerful people were nuts, Danny wasn't sure why. But was Ann nuts? And what about Mick? Could they all be nuts?
2. That this hotel sounded like the closest thing to hell Danny could imagine.
3. That he needed to set up his satellite dish.

You don't make the kind of money I've made unless your instincts are pretty fucking astounding.
Danny: Well, my instincts tend to fuck me up. So we've got your instinct to bring me over here versus my instinct to come.

Danny felt like shit. In fact he felt shitty in so many different ways that saying he had a headache or he had a stomachache would be wrong, because it would give the idea that the shitty feeling came only from his head or his stomach when actually it came from every part of him at once. Every part of him hurt or felt bad in whatever way it could, to the point where he couldn't do what he normally would do within ten seconds of waking up naked in an unknown bed n an unknown room (and it had happened to Danny before, more than once): get the fuck up. He felt too shitty to get up.



No, you don't look at nothing, Davis. But I do look at nothing.
Well, that's a poor use of your time. As far as Davis is concerned, all I do in here is waste valuable time.

I've got your number, pal, he tells me. Oh yeah, I've got it now.
He's used that one before, I've got your number. I already wrote it down.
Don't play possum with me, he says, and I hear it, play possum, but the missing page has me too rattled to care.

THE KEEP see nearby 'older' posts