New York in the summer time. New York under a blazing sun that seemed to have transported itself from the New Mexico desert. New York broiled in a heat wave that reminded her of a glassmaker’s kiln. Waves of heat made the foreshortened crowds on Fifth Avenue waver in the distance, as if they were a mirage on the hoof. The lions at the New York Public Library looked up as she passed, and gave her an acknowledging wink. We’re neither one nor the other, they said: neither stone nor flesh.
Six Sentence Sunday excerpts in January will feature works that will be published in 2013. Above are the opening lines of The Lost Pissarro.