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Anonymity amongst all the wreckage of the Earth, this was what I sought. And a good pair of boots for when it got cold.
Like most men, Wick could not help terror about one thing erupting as anger about something else.
We needed what could be burned or bled or transformed.
some part of me, deeply perverse, was rooting for Mord to outwit the missiles, that it was too soon, we were not ready, none of us were ready.
Our ironic new source of panic was that, in the event, there would be no one to surrender to.
“Yes, much too big, and full of bears.”
The darkness had arranged itself into something that resembled intent.
We were all weapons of some kind. We were all weaponized in our way.
Was it somehow the future exploiting the past, or the past exploiting the future?
In this new-old city, I want no great power, no power at all, only power over my own life. All I wanted is for there to be no great power in the city at all.
The things we say to each other, thinking they are so important to say, and yet later regret, that become a part of you no matter how hard you push them away, even as you can’t stop thinking about them.
I prefer the old betrayals, the ones based on trust.
We all just want to be people, and none of us know what that really means.
Life is still hard, but it is fair, and there is more joy in it that doesn’t feast on heartbreak.
suggesting that beauty can be inexhaustible.
A relative of the silverfish, the firebrat, has not fared as well in the City, for reasons too esoteric to relate here.
the wizened boy down by the corner near the courtyard of dead astronauts swears that vultures in the air together are known as a “venue,” while those congregated on the ground are a “kettle.”
