The Trees

by Percival Everett

“because you were able to construct three hundred and seven pages on such a topic without an ounce of outrage.”

“Here we are. The Lorraine Motel. There on that corner of that balcony. I was ten. That’s

why I’m a cop.” “It’s a museum now,” Jim said. “And it shouldn’t be,” Ed said. “Why not?” Quip asked. “It’s just a motel. That’s what it is. That’s all it is,” Ed said. “People should rent out that very room and sleep in that very bed and step through that very door and stand on that balcony and realize what happened there. People should know, understand that not all Thursdays are the same.”

“Everybody talks about genocides around the world, but when the killing is slow and spread over a hundred years, no one notices. Where there are no mass graves, no one notices.