Word: smacks
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...accident coming before it happened. Namo turned blindly down an aisle where a woman was trying on a Jane Russell Special brassiere. She was smack in the middle of the act when Namo smacked her, but she countered with a quick left job to his lower ribs. The blow wasn't enough to stop him or knock him off his feet, but it certainly slowed him down. Then she started to shriek something about being molested and Namo started thrashing angrily through the; crowd, knocking over displays and beheading scores of mannequins poised ever so carefully along the aisles...
...first hour was fine and I rested ten minutes before setting off again. Then I went for half an hour before resting. I started again, sweating now, breathing harder, throat drying, back and legs burning from the sun, and as I came around a ledge I ran smack into what joggers call The Wall. Not The Wall at Fenway Park, but a massive physiological-psychological being who sits on your chest and squeezes your lungs and makes each step an act of supreme will worthy of a Nietzschean Superman...
What we have here is an ex-Marine (Nick Nolte), tough to the point of psychopathy, agreeing to smuggle out of Viet Nam and into the U.S. a large stash of smack for his old buddy (Michael Moriarty), who is both feckless and luckless. The stuff is supposed to be dropped on the latter's wife (Tuesday Weld), who is a prescription-drug doper. A corrupt narcotics agent (Anthony Zerbe, at his meanest) and a couple of ex-cons who alternately provide comic and sadistic relief want to rip off the junk. All this leads to a chase that...
...pictorial record of Pound's unsentimental journey through old memories and older landmarks makes for intriguing viewing on several levels. First there are the sites themselves. Although a few of his shots smack of artiness, Photographer Vittorugo Contino is usually content to let Pisa, Verona and especially the stones of Venice speak for themselves. His black-and-white photography starkly captures the Venetian redolence of intrigue, history and decay...
...Music knows neither frontiers nor race nor nationalism," the promoter told the crowd of 2,000 Italian and French jazz lovers. With that, Count Basie, 73, the grand old master of keyboard swing, stepped up to a piano placed smack on the Franco-Italian borderline on the Pont St. Ludovic, and with his band launched a medley of such crowd pleasers as Sweet Georgia Brown and Freckle Face. Meanwhile traffic was blocked on both the Italian and French sides of the bridge, and a cacophony of auto horns accompanied the Count. "I've played outdoors before but never like...