Nadav Spiegelman

Mao II

Don DeLillo
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But all she did was push out words, eat and talk, working the human burble.
“The only private language I know is self-exaggeration.
me. I was a salesperson for a while in a heavily carpeted shoestore.
“I overstate things to stay alive. This is the point of New York. I completely love and trust this city but I know the moment I stop being angry I’m finished forever.”
The window is open so I can feel the air. I’m not deeply hung over and so the air does not rebuke me.
Charlie sat parallel to his desk, legs extended, his hands joined behind his neck.
Scott was still doing lists, moving toward late May now, making lists of things that needed doing, doing the things, going along project by project, room by room. Of course the lists of things were also things. An item on a list might generate a whole new list. He knew if he wasn’t careful he’d get mired in a theory of lists and lose sight of the things that needed doing.
She saw these soot-faced people pushing shopping carts filled with bundled things and she thought they were like holy pilgrims marching on endlessly but possibly thinking more and more about how to get through the next ten minutes, their priorities now revealed to them, and never mind Jerusalem.