Buzz-fizz in his head. Chain jangles as he walks. Bad tension. The Ellroy is getting to him. Sentences short, choppy, mean. Decends into self-parody. Reads like a goof on itself. Spic on a street-sweeper almost runs Pierce over as he turns the page on a city park driveway. It's good, the Ellroy. But easy to riff on. Small words. Sentences with four words. Just like that one. Or that one. Not that one, though. But that one.
Ellroy keeps going. So does Pierce. He's got a date with an industrial press. Suddenly he's thinking like Ellroy writes. His brain is starting to narrate. In short sentences. Four words or less. Single-word sentences. All adjectives. Tall. Greasy. Sleepless. Unshaven. Pierce closes the book. That sentence: four words.