Since the morning Kim had sprung Santiago on him and then called him a liar, he’d entered an odd state, swinging between dread and a calm so deep that it bordered on elation. He couldn’t decide which mood was warranted, and which the emotional figment of a mind made unknown to itself from a life ...
I influenced events very little. Unlike in literature, character was not fate. Fate was unbelievably itself. Staring out from the unlikely present I found each possible future equally implausible, though one of them began to take shape along the Canada-U.S. border where, under a concealing canopy...