“Dear friend now in the dusty clockless hours of the town when
the streets lie black and steaming in the wake of the water trucks
and now when the drunk and the homeless have washed up in the
lee of walls in alleys or abandoned lots and cats go forth highshouldered
and lean in the grim perimeters about, now in these soot-blacked
brick or cobbled corridors where lightwire shadows make a
gothic harp of cellar doors no soul shall walk save you”
Suttree, Cormac McCarthyImage

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