I’m a sucker for 70′s and 80′s still life paperback covers. They have almost nothing to do with the books themselves, but they’re such perfect, fetishistically arranged assortments of objects that they tell alternate stories.
Someone ran over a lady cop, and now they’re
going to shoot her, too, just to be safe.
Also: they hit her so hard her big earrings flew off.
“I like to go to the beach with my gun,
then I take off my sunhat so I get skin cancer
quicker, remove my sunglasses so I can’t see anything,
and just dictate letters into my dictaphone.”
Sometimes you’re counting your money and popping pills in
bed when all of a sudden there’s a gun in there with you
so you take off your nightie and run into the shower.
It’s happened to all of us.
I want these other covers so badly. I bet that cover of Split Images gave recovered alcoholics the shakes whenever they walked by it in bookstores. I mean, that is the Platonic ideal of the vodka martini.
