She meant depressions, for da had had them: big, massive, scudding, whopping, black-cloud, infectious, crow, raven, jackdaw, coffin-upon-coffin, catacomb-upon-catacomb, skeletons-upon-skulls-upon-bones crawling along the ground to the grave type of depressions.

This would be a nineteenth-century book because I did not like twentieth-century books because I did not like the twentieth century.

With me too, he was uncalculated, transparent, free from deception, always was what he was, with none of that coolness, that withholding, that design, those hurtful, sometimes clever, always mean, manipulations.

My suspiciousness of questions had long existed before the rumour of me and the milkman. When asked one I’d think, who is this person? What’s behind that question?

Not seeing mental wreckage then, seemed one of his downsides. As for the black eye, he did see that.

The banned names were understood to have become infused with the energy, the power of history, the age-old conflict, enjoinments and resisted impositions as laid down long ago in this country by that country, with the original nationality of the name now not in the running at all.

It was real milkman,

thought this real me was in there, in charge, hidden from them but directing from the undergrowth.

After getting through, you moved on to your next landmark and I had seven landmarks that peripherally I’d tick off in my head as I read my book and walked along.