The Naïve and Sentimental Lover

ttle thing, just a handful of days. Enoughs, that’s what a book is. Get pissed enough, get the guilts enough, get screwed enough, and suddenly . . . it’s a natural. Honest, lover.” Creation was an act of moderation, but life: life, Shamus said, existed only in excess. Who wants enough for Christ’s sake? Who wants the twilight when he can have the fucking sun? “No one,” said Cassidy loyally, and believed he spoke the truth.   He talked about inspiration, that much of it was genuine but useless, you left your soul out in all weathers, the birds shat on it, the rain washed it, but you had to leave it there all the same, there was no backing out, so fuck it. Ab