Why is it every intense experience and bright memory must have its roots in childhood? His lips are dry and his muscles the kind of tenseness that feels as if every cell in his body is trying to twist itself in opposite directions. And he is not a child anymore. Things made then last until now, and he is a man, and he is a child, and he is himself ( Read more... )

The nights are long and quiet here. Fishkill was quiet, but this is quiet, and on this night... He doesn't quite fancy the bar's social atmosphere, but seats himself at its edges, on the stairs that lead up to the rooms. There he watches, and writes ( Read more... )