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368 pages, Hardcover
First published August 3, 2010
in spite of all the terrible things you could say about those sacks of waste out there, they always seem to get along, even if it’s completely mindless. (66)
I’d forgotten how comforting banality can be. (209)
The final reward was finality, period. Except these days it wasn’t, so death had lost some of its appeal. (61)
The wall was scarred beneath the paint, reminding Ellen of her former boss, a woman with an unfortunate complexion who’d applied way too much base in a sad effort to mask what imperfections lay beneath. (28)
“During the day she could really absorb how awful she and everyone else looked. It had gotten so bad that your archetypal Auschwitz inmate would look at the residents of 1620 York Avenue and say,
Damn, those are some unhealthily skinny-looking motherfuckers. (29)
Ellen just stared at Alan, eyes glassy with grief. She plopped herself down on a wooden dining chair and Alan could hear the bones in her ass knock against the hard surface. (38)
Ellen’s areolas and nipples were dusky, almost burgundy, in sharp contrast to her pale skin. Her wasted breasts pooled on her chest, flattened empty sacs, yet he’d sucked on them like they dispensed the antidote. (71)
Tammy, tart-tongued and efficient, was all nipple and not tit, her chest a smooth plane of milky white skin dotted with two pencil eraser-size pink protrusions. (185)
How long had it been since she’d applied makeup or thought about her body as anything other than a rundown, withering collection of deprived tissue? (117)
Ellen’s eyes roved over the dizzying cavalcade of renderings. Beyond their technical excellence, Alan had captured something she hadn’t stopped to consider about the things outside: their innate humanness. Those things weren’t always things. They had been Homo sapiens. Alan’s meticulous artwork, while unsentimental, betrayed an element of latent humanity in the subject matter. The tilt of a head, the softness of a brow, the turn of a mouth, all reminded her that these empty vessels once had inner lives. They’d been friends and neighbors. (102-103)