Activity

the old super-pub with its sticky chandeliers and sodden carpet, its contrapuntal rock videos and the thick bank of dole-quaffing fruit machines

behind a mephitic banquette of cigarette smoke

the proud, moistened, middle-distance stare of a man who believes himself to have been gravely and perhaps insupportably traduced.

he photocopied and packaged it so many times that he felt like a publisher himself—or a printer, printing samizdat in a free country

Gwyn and Richard were at the Westway Health and Fitness Center, surrounded by thirty or forty etiolated drunks: playing snooker.