#buzzthebook

There was an empty bottle there for every day he had been in America, six months’ worth of drunken sunsets. Like memories themselves, most were shattered and mixed with other fragments, but every so often, for whatever reason, one remained intact, whole and perfect, so that to run his finger over the surface would eventually lead back to where he started.

But nothing changes in a portrait except how we look at ourselves and she came to call the time after her husband’s death My Faceless Existence—a heavy bit of English for someone who barely spoke the language.

Money made him merry.

You lose what you gain.