From time to time, I might post certain passages from books I’ve read, because they stuck in my mind or seemed noteworthy at the time.
Here is the first one from a short story called ‘Keller’s Last Refuge’ by Lawrence Block.
He didn't much feel like a scoundrel. He felt like your basic New York single guy, living alone, eating out or bringing home takeout, schlepping his wash to the laundromat, doing the Times crossword with his morning coffee. Working out at the gym, starting doomed relationships with women, going to the movies by himself. There were eight million stories in the naked city, most of them not very interesting, and his was one of them.