Sunday, January 01, 2017

Lydia Davis, The End of the Story

‘But on my worst days I just sit here in my dressing gown, my own warm smell rising from the opening of my collar. I listen to the cars go by in an endless stream on the road below my window and think something is happening just because time is passing. I won’t get dressed until I have sat here half the day. I won’t always shower first, only at a point when I feel I have thoroughly ripened.’