New York was a labyrinth of endless steps, and no matter how far he walked, it always left him with the feeling of being lost. Each time he took a walk, he felt he was leaving himself behind. All places became equal, and on his best walks, he was able to feel that he was nowhere.
This was all he ever asked of things: to be nowhere.
Paul Auster / Paul Karaski / David Mazzucchelli
5.5 x 8.25
June 1, 2004
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