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Lawrence Block, A Drop of the Hard Stuff

Als ich schon mit "Out on the Cutting Edge" weitermachen wollte, fiel mir ein, dass dieser nachträglich geschriebene Band chronologisch noch zwischen "Eight Million Ways to Die" und dem ursprünglich nächsten Band angesiedelt ist. Hier kann Scudder gerade sein erstes Jubiläum als trockener Alkoholiker feiern - auch wenn ihm nach Feiern kaum zumute ist.

I dialed it now, and the machine picked up. I listened to a dead man's voice. I hung up, wondering how long it would be before someone unplugged the machine, how long before the telephone company cut off the phone service.
You don't die all at once. Not anymore. These days you die a little at a time.
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It was getting dark out when I left the library. I'd lost all track of time, and when I checked my watch I saw that it was past five. It wasn't fully dark, but the sun was down, and a gray day was drawing to a close. Every day the sun disappeared a little earlier than the day before. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that, it happened every year, but there were times when I felt there was a sadness attached to it, that the poor old year was dying a day at a time.
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(Lawrence Block, A Drop of the Hard Stuff, 2011)