I imagine them indoors watching the light fall across a painting beside the television and the book shelves. He remembers strange visions from the journey home last night and feels as if he is actually reliving them like deja vu…Time and space shift and the clouds give way to sunshine that comes into the room like puddles. They don’t read their books, but they hold them in their hands and feel the pages and look at the texture of the typfaces. She thinks of Moby Dick as a sculpture as much as a thing about words. He thinks Murakami is Kabbalah and holds some exquisite key to understanding his own life. They listen to old David Bowie. They are happy and hopeful and quiet and chatty at turns. Then the impossible happens and Rumsfeld steps down. They decide this calls for a celebration.
Moby is Jade PegglerVelvetina all from The Library
