The boy smiled and stepped back. A car had stopped for Suttree, he’d not lifted a hand. Let’s go, said the driver. Hello, said Suttree, climbing in, shutting the door, his suitcase between his knees. Then they were moving. Out across the land the lightwires and roadrails were going and the telephone lines with voices shuttling on like souls. Behind him the city lay smoking, the sad purlieus of the dead immured with the bones of friends and forebears. Off to the right side the white concrete of the expressway gleamed in the sun where the ramp curved out into empty air and hung truncate with
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Don't ask and you shall receive. Go forth and prosper.
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Larry Carr
