Caro nomic hours without time now in the dusty streets of the city when they lie dark and steaming in the wake of autoinnaffiatrici and now that the drunk and the homeless are stuck in the shelter of the walls in the streets or in vacant lots and skinny cats and hunched forward in these dismal surroundings, now in the corridors and cobbled pavements of soot blacks where the shadow of the wire light draws gothic harps on the doors of the basement will not walk a soul except you. Cormac McCarthy, Suttree
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