
Chang-rae Lee Reads Steven Millhauser
The New Yorker: Fiction
Levinson's Memory
As Levinson drifted towards sleep, he was aware of the sounds of his neighborhood. He'd return from Miami and hurled himself into a frantic week of work. On block after block, houses were escaping their old forms, turning into something new. As Levinson made his way toward his ice cappuccino, he did his best to take it in all at once.
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