The January Blanket

Sat up last night re-reading Of Tender Sin by David Goodis. He died exactly 44 years ago last night, not long after a snowstorm. (One rumor had it Goodis died while shoveling snow.) Last night in Philly there was more snow on the ground, and there's even more snow falling as I type this. In other words, the weather is pure David Goodis: cold and bitter and snowy. He seemed obsessed with Philadelphia in winter. Here's a passage I ran across last night:

[Somehow Darby] could see all the sleepers underneath the snow-weighted roofs, as though the snow were a blanket for each and every one of them. The January Blanket that kept them protected, even while it chilled them. For winter was the best time of the year, the time of chill and freezing. Winter was the big icebox that kept them from decay and made everything fresh and keen and clear. Like the cold, clear thoughts that were coming now. Because after all, he'd be paying for it, and he had a right to get what he paid for.

I think it's safe to say Goodis would have enjoyed the weather this weekend. Looking forward to seeing some of you at the tribute tomorrow.

(Photo courtesy PhillyHistory.org.)