The Intuitionist

by Colson Whitehead

John sees himself as a crucial gear in the city’s mechanism, a freelance poltergeist of metropolitan disquiet.

We do not need cities and buildings; it is the fear of the dark which compels us to erect them instinctively, like insects.

She is mistress to her personality and well accustomed to reminding her more atavistic inclinations that the world is the world and the odd punch or eye-gouge will not make it any other way.