Posted in Uncategorized by sarkology on October 23, 2012

Then Abneg shocked me. Looking me in the eye, he lifted thumb and forefinger to his lips as if smooching the damp stub of a joint. It was hardly that marijuana was taboo here. The shock was in how the gesture so carelessly pierced the bubble of harmony that had formed, against the odds, among us. In his contempt for our bonhomie, he also showed me how it was still in some way sacred to me. How I was in the business of protecting, and flattering, the Woodrows’ vanities. It felt as if Abneg had undone his fly and pissed on the Woodrows’ carpet.

– Jonathan Lethem, Chronic City


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