Go.

An old woman lives surrounded by ghosts; somewhere along the way I lost sight of whether this was meant to imply a surfeit of memory or paranormal activity. I'm not sure if it matters. This morning the TV told me that the Waldorf has been sold, sold to the Chinese. I took a long sip of bad, sweet coffee and said, "And now well, what do we think about that?"

The air filled up with nicotine; I remembered typewriters. Alice, as she was back then, stooped and blind and reading, a gnarled finger tr...