Excerpts in Limbo, Vol. 6

--Daniel paused a moment, lingering in the past, in the bed with that man he could hardly recall. If memory could be extracted as matter, culled out from our tragic brains, what would it look like? If you held a vial of the clear, vital liquid, full of everything you remember about all the men you had loved in your short, desperate life, would it spray colors across the wall, splitting light into rainbows? Would faces appear, scents and textures? Would it be too heavy to lift?

--He stood on the platform watching the airplanes come into LaGuardia to land, watching the separated by hundreds of feet of airspace, hanging like Christmas lights on an invisible thread.

--Helena hires a driver with pock-marked face. A small man with a bulbous forehead and eyes spaced just slightly too far apart.

--They went home together, to the most recent banged-up house ??? was inhabiting for the time being. They laid together on the bed, so close that they were breathing the same air. Then they spent hours talking. In the morning, neither could remember who fell asleep first.