Not long after 9/11, Quinn sits beside me in the brewhouse, chain-smoking through his meal. He’s a New Yorker, criss-crossing the country in a kind of determined automatic daze; looking for sense, doing the work, staving off meaningless with words.
the ant finds kingdoms in a yard of ground
Not long after 9/11, Quinn sits beside me in the brewhouse, chain-smoking through his meal. He’s a New Yorker, criss-crossing the country in a kind of determined automatic daze; looking for sense, doing the work, staving off meaningless with words.
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