Grief Was Like A Seizure That Shook

I Like To Get To Bed With A Clear Head.

Night Fell Clean And Cold In Dublin, And Wind Moaned Beyond My Room As If A Million Pipes Played The Air.

I Stop Working At About 3 P.m. On Fridays.

Rain Slowly Slides Down The Glass As If The Night Is Crying.

Has All The Trappings Of A Mystery Novel, Doesn't It?