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Eunice looked up, and in her eyes I saw the familiar anger of an adult suddenly dragged back into childhood.
Remember this, Lenny; develop a sense of nostalgia for something, or you’ll never figure out what’s important.
I’m learning to worship my new äppärät’s screen, the colorful pulsating mosaic of it, the fact that it knows every last stinking detail about the world, whereas my books only know the minds of their authors.
They were together for the obvious and timeless reason: It was slightly less painful than being alone.
