Perhaps The Window Is Not

My Dad Hates Umbrellas, Said Deeba, Swinging Her Own. When It Rains He Always Says The Same Thing. 'i Do Not Believe The Presence Of Moisture In The Air Is Sufficient Reason To Overturn Society's Usual Sensible Taboo Against Wielding Spiked Clubs At Eye Level.

My Job Is Not To Try To Give Readers What They Want But To Try To Make Readers Want What I Give.

I'd Never Understood The Injunction Not To Regret Anything, Couldn't See How That Wasn't Cowardice.

London Is An Endless Skirmish Between Angles And Emptiness.

There Is No Knowing Beyond That Membrane, The Meniscus Of Death. What Can Be Seen From Here Is Distorted, Refracted. All We Can Know Are Those Untrustworthy Glimpses--that And Rumour. The Prattle. The Dead Gossip: It Is The Reverberation Of That Gossip Against The Surface Tension Of Death That The Better Mediums Hear. It Is Like Listening To Whispered Secrets Through A Toilet Door. It Is A Crude And Muffled Susurrus.