First lines of a great story

I was looking for a quiet place to die. Someone recommended Brooklyn, and so the next morning I traveled down there from Westchester to scope out the terrain. I hadn't been back in fifty-six years, and I remembered nothing. My parents had moved out of the city when I was three, but I instinctively found myself returning to the neighborhood where we had lived, crawling home like some wounded dog to the place of my birth. A local real estate agent ushered me around to six or seven brownstone flats, and by the end of the afternoon I had rented a two-bedroom garden apartment on First Street, just half a block away from Prospect Park. I had no idea who my neighbors were, and I didn't care. They all worked at nine-to-five jobs, none of them had any children, and therefore the building would be relatively silent. More than anything else, that was what I craved. A silent end to my sad and ridiculous life.The house in Bronxville was already under contract, and once the closing took place at the end of the month, money wasn't going to be a problem.
THE BROOKLYN FOLLIES BY PAUL AUSTER

2 Comments:

  1. Francesca said...
    Seems interesting.
    Have you got this book at Bloom Yellow?

    Cheers!
    Cesca :)
    Bloom * Creative Network said...
    Dear Francesca,
    We have been on hold either on Red and Yellow and been closed these days. Brooklyn Follies is out of stock right now. I'll let you know when we'll be on again and the book is here. Stay in tune. Thank you!

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