Publisher and laboratory for the written word. Where readers and authors meet. A division of Penguin USA.
If there was nothing he wanted or needed, why did his flat, full of things, feel so empty?
As I swim, my mind wanders. I talk to myself. What I can see through my goggles is boring and foggy, the same view lap by lap. Mundane, unrelated memories flash up vividly and randomly, a slide show of shuffling thoughts. They flash up and fade, like the thoughts that float peripherally before sleep, either inconsequential or gathering momentum into anxiety before eventually dissolving. Each thought lasts a quarter-lap or half-lap, a couple of laps tops. My responses to these thoughts are burbled into the water at my lips, improvements on history – things I wish I’d said or been able to say: “No, I’d rather not watch your bag.” Oui, en taille trente-six, s’il vous plait.” “Your spouse is not invited.