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and political fog, as history has illustrated, is best dispelled by the waving of flags and banners, which usually foreshadows the use of truncheons and sticks.
And remember, all of us are lying in the gutter. But some of you are circling the drain.”
And then reality kicked in: if Lamb was breaking bones just to show her he was serious, then he was monumentally pissed off.
Lamb turned to look at her. His face was the moon’s: craters and hummocks and random patches of grey.
He adopted a martyred expression, lit his cigarette, and—presumably out of habit—threw the lighter over his shoulder. It disappeared through the open window.
What Lamb did best was sit in his office, drinking himself into a waiting grave, but what he did second best, when he could be bothered, was cut his enemies off at the knees.
