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“It’s mine?” asked Affenlight. “He or she,” replied Sarah, “is mostly mine.”
rodentially
WESTISH COLLEGE: OUR DICK IS BIGGER THAN YOURS,
Each night she would go to bed beside him and then, the instant his breathing changed, get up and go to the kitchen to begin her nightly vigil of slowly drinking whiskey and chewing sunflower seeds while enduring the sheer excruciating boredom of being alive.
The house was appointed in classic collegiate squalor: garbage cans on the porch, busted spindles in the railing.
He’d never quite discarded the childhood belief that he could alter the course of distant or natural events with his mind.
He needed Owen, but Owen—being himself whole, or never farther than one well-rolled joint from whole—would never need him.
A good friend didn’t necessarily make a good father, a good professor didn’t necessarily make a good college president, and a good performer of oral sex on women couldn’t necessarily turn around and start giving blow jobs without submitting to the logic of learning curves.
His whole life had been bachelor transience, rootlessness, one noncommittal night after another in the cosmic boardinghouse.
Bill Murray in that movie he’d never seen, just like he’d never seen Groundhog Day, the one with the curvy blonde and the hotel bar, May–December in a far-off land.
“I’m sure he’s a master of his craft. If he wanted to be running a first-rate kitchen somewhere, he would. He just happens to prefer making runny eggs for runny-nosed kids.”
You could only try so hard not to try too hard before you were right back around to trying too hard.
Gary arranged his pudgy features into something resembling a smirk.
Nothing like some casual homophobia to win over a crowd.
that might make for a workable definition of the postmodernist era: an era when even the athletes were anguished Modernists.
People thought becoming an adult meant that all your acts had consequences; in fact it was just the opposite.
He was like a minor Greek god you’ve barely heard of, who sees through the glamour of the armor and down into the petty complexity of each soldier’s soul.
