Ich kann gar nicht glauben, wie viele gute Stellen dieses Buch hat. Wie ein sehr langes Gedicht.
Working with the homeless we can hear the buildings crumble. Yet each night we close Foley’s and step out, faintly disappointed, into the still-standing city.
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He will turn from shadow to object, become solid, something you can attach handcuffs to.
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How do they navigate an hour, I wonder, let alone a city, a lifetime?
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My mother sat me down and asked what I planned to do with my life. Seventeen, clearly on the wrong path, I thought for a moment and answered, Crime. As tears well up in my mother’s eyes I tried to explain—White-collar, victimless. She walked out of the room.
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I don’t know you at all, she will say, a few months into our affair, but if you ever want to talk … and I’ll smile a skull’s smile and one by one the lights will go off inside me.
Ich kann gar nicht glauben, wie viele gute Stellen dieses Buch hat. Wie ein sehr langes Gedicht.
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