While I drank bourbon, a woman at a bar near Grammercy last night sat next to me reading this and sipping what smelled like vodka on rocks, and I couldn’t think of a thing worth saying. I remember trying to digest this book once, well before the soul-crushing nature of reality taught me the horrifying things humans are capable of and the terrible ambiguity of my own existence and impending mortality. I doubt I was reading it right.

I’m not working on Friday, so maybe I’ll start reading it again at that same bar and see what happens.