The perfect words. That’s all he needed. No detail was avoidable.
His hypothetical writing wasn’t the representation of some great imaginative world currently all around him with a pulsing vitality, keeping him entertained while others continued on in their own dull lives. It was, rather, an attempt to add a small part of that world into the mundane experiences that he found himself in all those fruitless nights.
There was a man who saw the world as a collection of spirals. He would watch traffic as it went past and as the tires
The man had an anticipatory look. While he was glad to be out of the house and among people, he could not help but think