“The wash of grey was complete, as though the car had been submerged in cement. Brian felt at once claustrophobic. He laid on the horn, hoping that Anna would follow the sound back. She didn’t, or couldn’t. The snow battered the windows with such a rage that he feared they might shatter. Brian watched the passenger window, waiting for the press of Anna’s hand against it. Still, she failed to appear.”


“We felt like we were living amidst a joke: so these two Amish guys walk into a bar. . . . Our conversations tapered off to confusion and silence as soon as those two walking anachronisms wandered into Piggie’s Pub and took stools in front of where Piggie himself was manning the taps. They wore navy trousers and starchy white shirts buttoned all the way to the collar, suspenders and stiff black hats that they laid carefully on the bar in front of them. One sported a thick, fuzzy chinstrap beard like a strip of carpet ringing his jaw, while the other only managed a wispy peach fuzz goatee.”