Small Damages, the opening lines

In honor of this new year, in honor of this generous post, the opening lines of Small Damages, due out from Philomel on July 19th.

The streets of Seville are the size of sidewalks, and
there are alleys leaking off from the streets. In the back of the cab, where I
sit by myself, I watch the past rushing by. I roll the smeary window down,
stick out my arm. I run one finger against the crumble-down of walls. Touch
them for you: Hello, Seville.




At the , the old lady in
the vestibule is half my height, not even. She has thick elephant legs and
opaque stockings, and maybe the sun banged her awake when I opened the door, or
maybe the look of me disturbs her, but whatever it is, she's bothered. She puts
her hand out for my deposit, finds a key, and knocks it down on the table
between us. She thrusts her chin sky high, and I turn and take the marble
stairs, where there are so many smashed-in footsteps before mine. Smashed in
and empty and hollow.

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