By Iain M. Banks
Daniel Weir was a well-known - to not say notorious - rock celebrity. might be nonetheless is. At thirty-one he has been either an excellent failure and a lifeless good fortune. he is made loads of errors that experience paid off and many clever strikes he will remorse ceaselessly (however lengthy that seems to be). Daniel Weir has long past from rags to riches and again, and controlled to carry onto them either, even though now not a lot else. His pals all appear to be useless, bored to death with him or simply disgusted - and who can blame them? And now Daniel Weir is on their lonesome. As he contemplates his lifestyles, Daniel realises he merely has difficulties: the earlier and the longer term. He understands how undesirable the previous has been. however the destiny - good, the longer term is whatever else.
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Daniel Weir was a well-known - to not say notorious - rock celebrity. probably nonetheless is. At thirty-one he has been either an excellent failure and a lifeless good fortune. he is made loads of errors that experience paid off and many clever strikes he will remorse ceaselessly (however lengthy that seems to be). Daniel Weir has long past from rags to riches and again, and controlled to carry onto them either, although now not a lot else.
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He indicated the drummer, a curlyhaired guy with a scrunched up face and glasses, who nodded. ' This was the Hammond player, a thick-set youth with very long black hair who scowled at Balfour and said, 'Just Wes,' to me. '... ' The bass player. A little fidgety guy with the making of a beard and very long sideburns. ' 'Just c-call me Danny,' I said, grinning nervously at each one in turn. Christine Brice looked amused. I sat comfortably enough for a while, listening to them warm up and practise a few songs; mostly ones they'd played when I'd seen them the previous night, and mostly songs from the second half of the set.
I got my eyes open at last and sat up head pounding after an afternoon, evening and night drinking with McCann - to discover a pigeon fluttering madly about the room. It careened from wall to wall like a fly in a jam jar, scattering feathers behind it and making bewildered, terrified cooing noises. html against the glass, losing more feathers and leaving a long stream of shit sliding down the glass. It bounced back through the air, circled briefly and then had another go, cracking its head against the glass.
You go co-pilot,' Balfour said, holding open the passenger's door for me. html I was surprised, and secretly pleased, thinking this was some sort of recognition, a compliment. Wrong. ' He started taking off the jacket. I stared at him, then at the head lit road in front, hedges and stone walls rushing past; the camber of the road was slowly angling us into the side. I grabbed the wheel, dry-mouthed, and tried to aim us back into the centre of the road, over-corrected and threw us over to one side.