
Rachel Kushner Reads “A King Alone”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
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I'm in Between Places Right Now, She Said.
George asked her if she had eaten. She nodded enthusiastically like a mime, accentuating emotion to compensate for her mute Syou kind of appeared out o nowhere, he said. Her mouth quaked into that same smile from before, almost maniacal. Nowhere, she said, as if impressed by the word. And she started to laugh an eruption of giggles. He reminded himself how frail she looked. There was nothing to be afraid of; we could stop and get something. 30 minutes later they were at a restaurant on the side of the road with a few customers in it. George ordered spaghetti and meat as and beer. The woman glanced at the menu with a worried look.
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