Maybe – let’s not rule it out – this will be the song that cuts clean, the one that matters, the one that sheds standard-issue romance and reveals, under its old skin, a raw blood-red...

Man,” he said, “I’m not afraid of graveyards. The dead are just, you know, people who wanted the same things you and I want.””What do we want?” I asked blurrily.”Aw, man, you know,” he said....

Here, then, is the last moment of true perception, a man fishing in a red jacket and a cloudy sky reflected on opaque water.

Which is probably one of the reasons those of us who love contemporary fiction love it as we do. We’re alone with it. It arrives without references, without credentials we can trust. Givers of prizes...

You grow weary of being treated as the enemy simply because you are not young anymore; because you dress unexceptionally.