one of the great simps of literature. always out of place, always in a mood. on that usher grindset: out on the streets on his knees in the rain, begging for a crumb, just a taste, never really fits in. but then would you want to ‘fit in’ to a group of self-destructive sadsops? god forbid a man believe a getaway weekend mean something. mike and bill are what they are, but then we’ve got hell’s own dame in lady ashley and her personal eunuch chauffeur in jake barnes. floating around europe with not a glint in his eye—at least mike’s got the conviction to drink himself to an early death. meanwhile she’s ruining the teenage bullfighter. and cohn may be doomed to crying and old frances, but at least he knows he tried... can’t get the girl if you don’t even try