The God of Small Things

Arundhati Roy

also from the thrift store in woodside. there’s a pleasing cadence to this narrative, a careful rhythm sidestepping between pasts and presents.

A carbreeze blew. Greentrees and telephone poles flew past the windows. Still birds slid by on moving wires, like unclaimed baggage at the airport. A pale daymoon hung hugely in the sky and went where they went. As big as the belly of a beer-drinking man.

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