Welcome to The Friday 56, a weekly meme hosted by Freda's Voice.
These are the rules:
1. Grab a book, any book.
2. Turn to page 56, or 56% on your eReader.
3. Find any sentence (or a few, just don't spoil it) that grabs you.
4. Post it.
5. Add the URL to your post in the link on Freda's most recent Friday 56 post.
I'm also taking part in Book Beginnings, a weekly meme hosted by Rose City Reader. The rules are pretty simple - you share the first sentence or so and your initial thoughts, impressions, or whatever else it inspires. Don't forget to link up your post's url with Rose City Reader.
This week I'm spotlighting my current read, Everybody Smokes in Hell by John Ridley. I picked this up at a this up at a thrift store not too long ago because it sounds like a good modern noir - and I've always enjoyed noir (although it's usually set in the 30s-50s). I haven't gotten very far but if the snippets and what I have mean anything I think I'll enjoy it.
Hollywood was what the sign said. Said it in giant white letters. Said it big as every dream of every dreamer who ever came Tinseltowning. Said it for all the world to see, when anyone could see it at all through the overcoat of smog that kept the city of Los Angeles bundled up tight.
A phone call.
Just one phone call.
And now Paris was one of them. Almost. Would be with the cash he was about to collect. Paris would be a million dollars' worth of somebody.