Love and Death on Long Island: A Novel

scurrilous

imbroglio

tetchy

glissading,

pastilles.

quixotry.

Waiting is not a passive activity. It consumes, it devours, it pitilessly spews out one’s every hour, minute, second; it deters one from setting about the very meanest of quotidian chores; one comes to feel that the worst of the afterlife’s eternal damnation must be the sheer eternity of it and not the damnation.

This bronzed boy looked as though he must smell of freshly baked bread.

lubricious