RIP

Salinger is dead. 91.

...looking at the title of a story from nine stories 'de daumier-smith's blue period' and this is one of those stories i could never remember in connection to its name. but id remember the name on and off... suddenly in the middle of a completely unconnected thought. it'd pop in. de daumier-smith's blue period. id say it over to myself. something in the words made me feel better. i dunno.

i'm sad.

He was the funniest-looking boy, or man--it was hard to tell which he was--she had ever seen. His hair was bed-dishevelled. He had a couple of days' growth of sparse, blond beard. And he looked-well, goofy. "How did you cut it?" she asked.

He was staring down, with his slack mouth ajar, at his injured finger. "What?" he said.

"How did you cut it?"

"Goddam if I know," he said, his inflection implying that the answer to that question was hopelessly obscure. "I was lookin' for something in the goddam wastebasket and it was fulla razor blades."

_JD Salinger (just before the war with the eskimos)