My room is cheerfully located between the sixth-floor elevators. The springs of my bed wheeze. The elevator dings. The ice machine right outside my door rumbles forth its icy bounty, a steady tattoo that beats “Stay up! Stay up!” I am in a canvas that Edward Hopper never felt bummed out enough to paint.

It was the only thing that was there when all I saw where the backs of men facing me echoed in a frenzied hilarity that dulled my soul

Everyone is beautiful... 
It's our angle how we perceive it.

I’d ban coincidences, if I were a dictator of fiction. Well, perhaps not entirely. Coincidences would be permitted in the picaresque; that’s where they belong. Go on, take them: let

Written By Julian Barnes

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