* An excerpt from a favorite book.
* While I reorganize the content.
[...] She peered up at him through her fringe as he leant against the cheap buttoned vinyl headboard and even without her spectacles on it was clear why he might want to stay exactly this way. Eyes closed, the cigarette glued languidly to his lower lip, the dawn light warming the side of his face through the red filter of the curtains, he had the knack of looking perpetually posed for a photograph. She thought 'handsome' a silly, nineteenth-century word, bit there really was no other word for it, except perhaps 'beautiful'. He had one of those faces where you were aware of the bones beneath the skin, as if even his bare skill would be attractive. A fine nose, slightly shiny with grease, and dark skin beneath the eyes that looked almost bruised, a badge of honor from all the smoking and late nights spent deliberately losing at strip poker [...] There was something feline about him: eye-brows fine, mouth pouty in a self-conscios way, lips a shade too dark and full, but dry and chapped now, and rouged with Bulgarian red wine [...]
[...] These days the nights and mornings have a tendency to bleed into one another. Old-fashioned notions of a.m. and p.m. have become obsolete and he is seeing a lot more dawns than he once used to [...]