Shivering, you drag yourself, as if gun-shot, to the living room, to the old movie channel, to a Bogart festival, your mind fogged over (like the street on the screen) edging toward feverish sleep when Bogey snarls at Ida Lupino: “Of all the 14-carat saps...” Hours later when you wake, he’s smacking Peter Lorre: “When you’re slapped, you’ll take it and like it!” And as if cuffed, you black out,...
