The printers sent a sample of the book to Bett, the book manager, who sent it over to me with a rider. I remember the rider – skinny fellow with a sallow look – because he pressed my doorbell …
Kim jumps at insects, chickens and cats. When a cat passes under a table Kim is sitting on, he raises his feet in the air, like the cat is a flood washing under the table.
Consider the intrigue of where babies are made. In old boring beds with interesting headboards, in the back of white cars, on patches of grass, against walls in corridors with dull paintwork, under dull orange lighting, and in unyielding …
He sent me a half-sleepy, non-punctuated text this morning to ask me to inform you that he won’t be around today. So, in the light of his telephonic washing of hands, I feel obliged to …
