Mín frumraun í einhverjum skriftum. Ákvað að setja þetta hérna í örsögur þar sem atburðarrásin er lítil sem engin. Gagnrýni vel þegin. There he sat once again in his living room as so many times before, thinking about death. He was almost out of cigars but his whiskey bottle was only half finished which gave him something to look forward to. Some hope, at least for the time being. The fire was still going. It crackled on with an eery dedication to survive. Like it was alive. It even had the...